Rough Justice
by mark-engels
Summary: Many seasons have passed since the Bugrom War, now its heroes face a new threat. Some shall rise to glory, others will fall from grace; nothing shall be the same afterward. Co-authored by Ken Wolfe.
1. Rough Justice Ch 01

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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"The first casualty when war comes is truth."  
Hiram Warren Johnson  
  
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One  
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Need some salt for Four. Twelve wants some rialdi sauce for their eggs.  
That moron at Seven managed to knock a kettle over onto Eight's cakes.  
Guess they'll want a fresh stack now. How in the hell did Six end up with  
cold miso soup? Where did those people at Nine get off to? If they think  
they'll jilt me again they've got another --  
  
The counter bell's pealing brought Nanami out of her reverie. "Order up!  
Cakes and hash!"  
  
Nanami shook off her stray thoughts like rainwater off an oilskin tunic.  
She hadn't been a restaurateur very long at all before realizing breakfast  
was the ultimate test of a server's mettle. Breakfast customers want to  
eat, to eat fast, and then be on their way. Many were merchants and  
laborers who, very soon, would be hawking their wares in Floristica's vast  
marketplace or lugging them across the city. It was easy to tell one from  
the other. While both castes pounced upon their meals like rabid hyenas,  
the merchants were the ones under whose flashy, colorful robes their  
corpulence protruded.  
  
Lately she had managed to find a few good servers who were willing to rotate  
the early shift. Last night, however, Keisha's fiancee had stopped in just  
after the dinner rush pitching some tale about a nasty flu bug. Rather than  
have Rivvy come in for the second day in a row on short notice, Nanami  
decided to work the shift herself. Getting wind of all the good gossip was  
a great consolation prize.  
  
And it's nice to see I've still got the knack, she thought.  
  
Pulling a small jar of rialdi sauce from her apron, she placed it at Twelve  
on her way to the counter. Picking up the plate, she grimaced at the  
still-steaming hash. "Hey, there was a side of -- "  
  
"Capers. Yes. Right here."  
  
Nanami smirked as the cook lifted a small bowl of the pickled vegetables  
from below the countertop. "I didn't know you were trained as a mind  
reader."  
  
He chuckled. "I wasn't. Instinct."  
  
Nanami set down her tray, leaned over the countertop and locked lips with  
him, evoking knowing nods from the regulars sitting at the counter. "What  
does your instinct tell you now, smartass?"  
  
He flushed, as he always did when she pulled a stunt like that. Nanami  
giggled as her husband momentarily struggled to keep his composure. "It,  
ah, tells me I needs must go sit in the cooler awhile."  
  
Nanami winked at her husband as she picked up her tray. "Grab me another  
bowl of soup for Six on your way, would you?"  
  
Working with him was probably the best reason of all to work the early  
shift. Of course, none in Roshtaria could match her culinary prowess, but  
he could hold his own. And those wonderful pickled capers he'd shown her  
how to make were a big seller!  
  
Four got some salt, Eight's fresh cakes arrived momentarily, Six got a bowl  
of soup hot enough to melt lead, and Nine cashed out leaving a hefty tip.  
Seven received another full kettle, with a complimentary side of  
admonishment -- a house specialty.  
  
Almost as quickly as it had come, the morning rush died away. Nanami had  
barely begun to register such when she heard two familiar voices breaking  
the late morning's relative quiet. She chuckled, mostly to herself. The  
reigning Duke and Duchess of the Floristican Merchant Guild were about to  
grace her humble eatery with their magnanimous presence.  
  
"...woman, do you take me for a fool? I, Asdic, the most savvy merchant in  
all Roshtaria, would never permit anyone to repair our precious silver  
jewelry without posting a bond!"  
  
With that, His Savviness pushed aside the draperies covering the entrance to  
the cafe. The elderly merchant wearing robes loud enough to be deafening  
led his similarly clad wife to their favorite table. Their argument, as  
usual, never slowed once as he helped her take a seat.  
  
"Well, I, Jilyn, recall your last lapse of judgment, you old fool! Remember  
that goldsmith 'friend' of yours who made clean off with my favorite  
broach?"  
  
The portly merchant's gray beard shook as he rebuked her. "Woman, pay me  
the respect I am due! That was different! If I had known--"  
  
"Lord Asdic, Lady Jilyn -- good morning to you both," Nanami interrupted,  
knowing lunchtime would arrive before an opening. "Always a pleasure to  
see you here."  
  
Asdic shifted from his argumentative posture to his wide-eyed greeting with  
practiced ease. "Ah, Lady Nanami! How lucky we are indeed to be attended  
this morning by the Lady Nanami Jinnai -- owner of Floristica's legendary  
Shinanome Café, Caterer to the Royal House of Jagdhar--"  
  
"Flatterers *still* pay full price," Nanami deadpanned.  
  
Asdic pretended to pout while Jilyn cheerfully indicated they would take  
their usual. When Nanami returned with a full kettle of citrugrass tea, the  
couple hardly noticed as they continued their seemingly endless argument.  
  
"Ah, Lady Nanami, did you hear the latest?"  
  
Nanami sighed. So much for a clean getaway.  
  
She knew Jilyn was a good person at heart, but like anyone victim to her own  
vices. In her golden years, Jilyn had reached the dubious distinction of  
being Roshtaria's most infamous gossip. Nary a stone's turning in  
Floristica escaped Jilyn's network of spies. Nanami had long suspected her  
reach extended far into the depths of the Royal House itself. Maybe Jilyn  
was secretly working for Affairs Minister al-Farsi?  
  
No, of course she wasn't. She would certainly talk the minister to death.  
  
"I hadn't, Lady Jilyn. But I'm sure you'll relieve my soul from the burden  
of my ignorance."  
  
"Indeed, Lady Nanami. I hear that the Prince's Mountaineers will mobilize  
on the morrow."  
  
"Mobilize?" Nanami gasped. She recalled how young Prince Justen had taken  
honorary command of Roshtaria's elite mountain troops several months ago.  
"But just where will they mobilize to?"  
  
"It pleases me to report that my dear wife has no idea," Asdic interjected  
before Jilyn could answer. "Thankfully Roshtaria's military manages to keep  
*some* of its secrets from her."  
  
Jilyn silenced her husband with a menacing stare Nanami thought sure would  
make even a Demon-God take pause. Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial  
murmur -- that is to say, only half the restaurant could hear her. "As I  
was saying before being rudely interrupted, the Mountaineers will mobilize  
on the morrow's meridian. All of Floristica is excited for them and their  
mission." Nanami grimaced; Jilyn continued nevertheless. "When morn is  
nigh they will parade from the Palace gates to the amphitheater, where  
Prince Justen will address his troops and the public. Then, they shall  
march to the canal where the Royal Navy's boats will be waiting to take them  
to their final deployment." She sighed, waving her hand in a dismissive  
gesture. "Where that will be, no one knows for certain."  
  
Nanami sighed. "I suppose everyone thinks this is the only way."  
  
The aged merchant knew what Nanami wasn't saying. "Lady Nanami," he  
consoled her, "the Mountaineers shall be there merely to ensure the safety  
of Roshtarians and Ceruleans alike during the transfer. Why, one look at a  
company of those brutes should make any potential interloper reconsider."  
  
Nanami hmphed. But in her heart she knew her friends were merely trying to  
help. "Thank you, Asdic. I only wish I had your confidence in Prince  
Justen's discretion," she said, turning toward the kitchen.  
  
Asdic wagged a finger at Nanami as she walked away. "Our Prince may be  
young, haughty, and inexperienced, but take heed! -- he is cut from the  
finest stock of both Roshtaria and Geynos. I believe our confidence in him  
will not be misplaced."  
  
I've heard this all before, Nanami thought as she pushed through the kitchen  
door. Many times during the Cerulean Uprisings she had questioned her  
allegiances. There were her friends to think of -- no, they had become her  
surrogate family. She had pledged herself to the Roshtarian crown and its  
Alliance, as her friends had. But ever since he had come into her life,  
she found herself looking at the world they shared differently.  
  
Instantly she regretted letting her guard down. Two arms slid around her  
waist, clasping her to their owner's chest. She relaxed as he pecked the  
top of her head where her long reddish-brown hair gathered into a  
waist-length braid. "Stealth -- yet another of your many talents," she  
murmured.  
  
He didn't have to look at her to see something bothered her. Turning her  
gently around to face him, he waited for her to tell him about it.  
  
Nanami looked up into his gray eyes. Her husband stood about a half a head  
taller than her, toting a muscular build that hadn't softened much over the  
years. She thought she could lose herself into that kind, gentle face of  
his. The closely cut white hair sprouting out from under his chef's hat  
begged the question: could the old wounds Roshtaria carried from the time  
the Eye of God blinked last ever be healed? Sometimes Nanami despaired  
those peaceful members of her husband's race would ever gain the acceptance  
and trust they deserved.  
  
"Prince Justen's 'peace keepers' move out tomorrow."  
  
He only nodded his assent. "You needn't worry about where my allegiances  
lie, Nanami. They are to you, to our friends, and to the Crown we all  
serve."  
  
"Yes, Shevlin, *I* know that. I'm worried about those who don't."  
  
He smiled. "My people living in Roshtaria cannot help but feel grateful to  
the Queen's Champion. In championing our cause as well, Lady Ifurita gives  
all my people hope we can live amongst the Roshtarians peaceably."  
  
Nanami smiled, thinking of their friends. Had it really been twenty-five  
years since she had first arrived?  
  
Makoto was as close to her now when Ifurita had first summoned them to El  
Hazard. And for Ifurita, closer to Queen Rune than any of them as Royal  
Champion, Nanami's accepting Shevlin and his people was reason enough to  
stand with them. Ifurita had even secured Queen Rune's support for  
integrating Tribesmen into Roshtarian society, though the issue divided the  
nation to this very day.  
  
A buzzer sounded from the other side of the kitchen, ending their moment.  
Nanami pushed herself away from Shevlin, straightening her apron. She  
smiled as she removed the hot plates from the oven; the familiar sounds of  
merchant and his wife arguing could be heard throughout the restaurant.  
"Guess I'd better go break it up," she said. Experience told her the surest  
way to squelch the couple's nearly endless arguing was to feed them.  
  
But neither was at table when she returned to the dining area, carrying a  
Morning Special in each hand. She immediately turned toward where Asdic and  
Jilyn's continued their verbal exchange. They were standing in the doorway,  
its curtain parted on either side of them. Jilyn held up a finger,  
indicating they would finish this later, and then waved Nanami over.  
  
She sat the plates down on the table where their purses still lay. What  
could be of such importance outside to cause the only Roshtarians more  
money-conscious than she to be so remiss?  
  
Nanami's answer came even before she got to the door. The deafening sound  
of hundreds of boot heels falling in unison told the story. She watched  
numbly as newly fallen leaves were ground into powder upon the cobblestones.  
  
The troops of Roshtaria's Mountain Legion marched smartly past the Shinonome  
Cafe up Palace Row. Each sported the breastplate and baggy trousers worn by  
all Roshtarian soldiers. But unlike the Regulars, every piece of the  
Mountaineer's gear was black. In place of helmets or floppy berets, each  
wore a broad-billed wool cap. Nanami recalled these and the sleeved tunics  
were worn to ward off autumn chills and mountain winds. While their  
uniforms may well have kept the troopers warm, to her the sight of them was  
chilling.  
  
"They must be making their way to the Palace for a practice formation this  
afternoon," Asdic opined.  
  
Before Nanami could say anything, several skiffs hissed by just a few yards  
off the ground. On the back platform of the largest one stood Prince  
Justen, arms crossed over his chest. Despite the convoy's speed and a  
Roshtarian Royal Guard at either shoulder, Nanami managed to catch a glimpse  
of the young royal. Justen had grown into a fine looking young man -- tall  
and handsome like his father, willowy and graceful like his mother. The  
Prince looked much the same as his soldiers save he wore his cap tucked  
under one epaulet. His long, sandy brown hair stood out behind him like the  
Roshtarian standards adorning his skiff's bowsprit.  
  
"Looks like he's ready to fight," Shevlin said from behind, startling her.  
  
Posturing just like his father, Nanami thought sardonically. "Well, I'm  
sure the Queen has already advised him of his responsibility to change into  
his official robes before the ceremony tomorrow -- birthday boy or not."  
  
She felt him hold her to him from behind her waist. Resting her back  
against his chest, Nanami felt her shoulders release their tension.  
Speaking softly into her ear with his deep voice, he tried to comfort her.  
"Now more than ever the Royal House needs our support. These times ahead  
will be difficult for us all -- for them especially."  
  
"I know, I know," she sighed. "I just don't know what good can come from  
Prince Justen stomping around Cerulea showing off his toy soldiers. I mean,  
they just want to be left alone, right?"  
  
As the Prince's convoy passed, Asdic had ceased arguing with his wife and  
drew nearer the two of them. "But you know how badly Roshtaria needs  
geynosanium. Lord Makoto and Lady Ifurita both tell us the ore may be  
necessary to defend the Alliance from future aggressors."  
  
Nanami silently realized everyone's rationalizations brought her no comfort.  
  
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	2. Rough Justice Ch 02

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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Two  
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Makoto Mizuhara had given up long ago trying not to feel intimidated while  
eating in the formal dining hall. With the setting sun's light pouring in  
through windows seemingly tall enough to touch Heaven itself, he could not  
tell just where the high ceiling left off and the sky began.  
  
He noticed someone tapping his thigh. "Makoto, our servers would like to  
know if you have finished eating."  
  
Makoto looked to his right to see Ifurita leaning over to him. He let his  
breath out all at once, making a shooing motion with the hand he wasn't  
using to prop himself up while reclining. "Oh, yes. Take it away, please."  
  
One of Queen Rune's handmaidens reached over top of Makoto's shoulder to  
pick up his plate. He didn't think he'd be hungry again for a week. After  
having his fill of barbecued tree-fish skewers, baked tubers, steamed  
legumes, and roast beast in rialdi sauce, Makoto silently debated whether  
he'd need Ifurita to roll him home. Of course, given wine had been served  
generously enough to satiate even Lord Fujisawa's thirst, Makoto thought he  
would have to depend on his wife just to *find* his way back to their  
apartment.  
  
"I hope you saved room for dessert," Ifurita said impishly.  
  
Makoto felt his heart sink. This was, after all, Prince Justen's sixteenth  
birthday celebration. He certainly had been to enough birthdays for both  
the Prince and Princess in the past. Shouldn't he have remembered the  
pastries everyone nibbled when engaging in the after dinner well-wishing?  
Many different kinds had been served at these gatherings of the Royal  
Family's closest friends, though he recalled all were sickeningly sweet. He  
felt immediately nauseous.  
  
Taking Ifurita's hand in his own beneath the table, he opened the link they  
shared. #You think anyone would be offended if I begged off?#  
  
His wife smiled, nodding toward the end of the great table. #Fear not,  
Makoto. We will likely be here awhile.# She winked before breaking their  
link. "Sometime hence the prince will open his presents before tea and  
scones are served," she whispered.  
  
Makoto fondly thought just what a sight Ifurita was, dressed in her loose,  
flowing blue-grey silk robe. Oddly enough, he always recalled the Doric  
Peplos of marble statues whenever she wore it. But any resemblance to Greek  
goddesses of ancient Terran lore ended at her neckline. His wife had of  
late taken to putting her pale blue hair up into two thick ponytails, which  
suited him just fine. It reminded Makoto of the Ifurita to whom he had  
given memories of his childhood on Earth to, for she had had none of her  
own. But that was ages ago, he lamented, knowing these days her hair style  
made Ifurita look much younger than he. Among those not old enough to  
remember Makoto had oft been accused of robbing the cradle. But Makoto's  
friends among the Old Guard knew better--if anyone were to be so charged it  
would have to be the centuries-old Demon-God.  
  
To Ifurita's right sat Chamberlain Londs. Retired now from the Roshtarian  
Royal Guard, he had stayed on to counsel the monarchs on domestic affairs.  
His tenure in Her Majesty's service was a long and distinguished one, during  
which time Makoto had come to befriend and respect him. He sat saying  
nothing, tugging nervously at his long gray beard. He knew better than to  
intervene while an all-too-familiar scene played out yet again.  
  
Queen Rune Venus of Roshtaria sat across the table's corner from her  
chamberlain, her attention was focused toward the man sitting on her side  
opposite Londs. Her face blocked from his view by her diadem's petal-like  
appendages, Makoto nevertheless knew she and His Majesty were engaged in yet  
another standoff.  
  
Makoto could see Rune's arms were folded defensively beneath her informal  
robes. The target of her ire gestured in kind. Barrel-chested and  
lantern-jawed, King Kaured was an intimidating sight even when seated upon  
the floor. A thin gilded circlet adorned with stylized evergreen sprigs  
held his curly brown and graying hair above his forehead.  
  
Rune of late had taken to wearing her long, sandy brown hair down during all  
but formal state functions. Makoto noticed how it waved to and fro as Rune  
scolded her husband. "Kaured, may I remind you that I firmly believe Justen  
ought mind his tongue tomorrow? You know we have a responsibility of being  
perceived as promoting an agenda supportive of the Realm's best interest."  
  
"Yes, my dear Rune, that I do," Kaured replied evenly, now pulling at the  
corner of his mustache. "But I assure you my intent was not to  
contraindicate to our son my support for your wise position. I was merely  
suggesting the lad speak his mind this first time he has opportunity to do  
so publicly. Our nation ought to know what values its future sovereign  
holds dear."  
  
The subtext around the table was deafening.  
  
Queen Rune had cast her die on the side of welcoming and accepting the  
remaining Phantom Tribe refugees and prisoners-of-war. Makoto recalled  
Ifurita had been instrumental in Rune's decision; as Royal Champion, Ifurita  
was called upon to help gauge the potential threat. Masamichi Fujisawa,  
having served the Crown well in recent years as Education Minister, had also  
sympathized with the plight of the dislocated Tribesmen. Few questioned his  
credibility when drafting supporting Rune's reconciliation plan, for fewer  
still could claim greater grievances than he against the Phantom Tribe.  
  
Makoto exchanged glances with his Lord Fujisawa. His former teacher and  
longtime friend sat across table from him with his wife Miz Mishtal,  
formerly known as the High Priestess of Water. Everyone's attention focused  
on Kaured and Rune, each attempting to stare the other down.  
  
Kaured closed his eyes and sighed, begrudgingly conceding this round to  
Rune. Makoto was aware Kaured's own grievances toward the Phantom Tribe ran  
deep. He could tell the king still disapproved of using his son's first  
public address to deliver the conciliatory message to their subjects, but  
would trust his wife's judgment.  
  
For now anyway, Makoto thought glumly.  
  
"Afura Mann and Shayla-Shayla send their regrets they could not be here  
today," Miz said in her singsong voice, deliberately trying to change the  
subject. Roshtarian by birth, Miz had remained in her homeland as she and  
Masamichi raised their little girl. With Ai married and raising a family of  
her own, everyone had been seeing less of them. Makoto recalled Fujisawa  
telling him they spent much more time at their mountain retreat. Like her  
Queen, Miz had taken to wearing her hair down these days. Time had paled  
her lavender hair somewhat, though Makoto continually marveled how Miz's  
youthful comeliness showed no signs of forsaking her.  
  
"Well, I am sure retirement has kept them busy," Rune said, her pleasant  
demeanor and poise returning.  
  
Fujisawa chuckled. "Indeed, your Majesty," he said, running one hand  
through the short graying brown stubble that covered his head. "They will  
be spending the day tomorrow with Kiku and Elena and their acolytes on  
Abrigidal Plain, just beyond the Kowlan Range from us."  
  
"Oh," Kaured said, suddenly appearing interested. "What technique shall  
they be practicing this time?"  
  
"I believe they will be running ropes courses to improve their speed and  
balance, your Majesty," Miz said in answer to the King's question. "Qawool  
and her acolytes were there just a few weeks ago for the same reason."  
  
A mischievous giggle rose up from next to Kaured.  
  
"Andria, keep a civil tongue in your head," Rune admonished.  
  
Barely nine years old, only Princess Andria's head and shoulders could be  
seen above the table. Arms crossed and brow furrowed, she pouted silently  
after her mother's rebuke. "Dear mother, my tongue is a model citizen.  
Maybe Justen could learn from the Great Priestesses how not to be such a  
clumsy oaf!"  
  
Prince Justen, seated between his sister and Miz, glared back at her  
indignantly. "Dear sister, I think you owe me an apology."  
  
"Nay, dear brother. Maybe you should make sure your new boots are laced all  
the way up tomorrow. That way you won't make us a laughing stock like you  
did at the Spring Festival!"  
  
"I did NOT make a fool of myself! I carried myself with all the grace and  
poise befitting those of royal stature, such as ourselves."  
  
"You did until you fell flat on your--"  
  
"ENOUGH!"  
  
Rune silenced the both of them with the look throughout all history used to  
exercise maternal authority. "Justen, tomorrow is an official function.  
Appropriate dress shall be fall robes and dark clogs. You shall have ample  
opportunity to stomp about in those boots the Gannanese gave you during your  
bivouac in Geynos," she said in a tone indicating the matter was closed.  
  
"Yes, mother."  
  
Andria giggled. "Yeah! You might hurt yourself badly if you fly arse o'er  
teakettle again!"  
  
Rune pointed her finger at her daughter like a spear. "You shall utter nary  
another word regarding your brother's unfortunate mishap at the Spring  
Festival," she hissed. "And for having such a 'civil' tongue, such coarse  
language is unbecoming to your position, young lady! Do you realize you  
sound just like--"  
  
"--a certain Auntie who found things more important than join us here for  
Justen's birthday?"  
  
Rune silently implored her husband not to go there again.  
  
"You knew that Fatora would be in Doros Land this week on holiday with her  
new consort, Kaured."  
  
"Merely making an observation, love," he said nonchalantly. "As  
objectionable as I find her missing an important function like this, she's a  
grown woman fully capable of making choices for herself."  
  
"Father, it's all right, really," Justen said, his indignation at his sister  
forgotten at the mention of his favorite auntie. He beamed, holding aloft a  
brightly colored box with a shiny ribbon on it. "Auntie 'Ora left this with  
my servant before she left."  
  
"Well, open it up, young Majesty," Ifurita said.  
  
Makoto nonchalantly tweaked the corner of his mustache as he and Lord  
Fujisawa exchanged knowing nods across the table that said "this ought to be  
good."  
  
Justen pulled the ribbon off the box and lifted the lid. Reaching a hand in  
he pulled out what looked like a small ordinary leather bound book from the  
tissue paper. His face screwed up in a puzzled frown as he read aloud from  
the note attached to the book's front cover. "Justen, lad, you are rapidly  
approaching the age where you shall fulfill your royal obligations, ensuring  
succession for the greater glory of Roshtaria. But no great feat is  
accomplished without careful preparation. Use this tome's illustrations and  
text as you prepare for the day you shall -- HEY!"  
  
"I believe your father and I shall have words with a certain Auntie of yours  
upon her return," Rune said as she snatched the book away from the  
protesting prince. She removed the note to examine it further before  
handing the book to Kaured. Everyone watched as Rune's eyes followed the  
text of the message and roll disgustedly upon reaching the end. Rune  
cleared her throat as she folded the note and pocketed it inside her robe.  
  
Makoto couldn't help but smirk back at Fujisawa. He felt his wife once  
again open her link with him.  
  
#So like Fatora.# Makoto nodded his reply.  
  
Ever mindful of her position, Rune tried to restore some dignity to the  
occasion. "'Twould seem my dear sister has a vested interest in encouraging  
*our* children to continue the family line," she snorted. "Well, Justen, we  
have more presents for you that you may find useful for tomorrow and your  
long journey ahead. Wouldn't you agree, Kaured?"  
  
All eyes turned to Kaured, who sat leafing through the book his wife had  
handed him. His enraptured eyes wide as saucers, he turned the book  
sideways as if to get a better look at a double page illustration. His  
barely audible mutterings would have gone unheard had he not been the focus  
of attention. "Gods, I had nary an idea 'twas even physically *possible*  
for two people to--"  
  
Ifurita was first to lose it. The other adults at the table burst out  
laughing as Rune pulled the book from Kaured's hands and slammed it hard  
down onto the table. "May I remind His Majesty to maintain a wee bit of  
decorum while in the presence of his subjects?" she yelled above the  
cacophony of laughter.  
  
Kaured sat stone still while his wife rebuked him, arms once again crossed  
defiantly across his chest. Rune herself even began to chuckle as his  
cheeks and forehead turned red despite his best attempts at stoicism.  
Makoto felt sorry for Andria and Justen, sharing puzzled looks not knowing  
really what was going on. They would understand, in due time.  
  
His full stomach ached from laughing, but Makoto didn't care. It gave him  
great comfort to be reminded, once again, that despite their station the  
members of the Royal House were a family first and foremost.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
After a time, Justen opened the remainder of the presents. It seemed the  
entire Alliance had given him gifts to aid his long mission ahead. Laide's  
metal smiths had forged a metal climbing ax Fujisawa couldn't help but drool  
over. Makoto's sensei recounted a tale heard during his travels that its  
mottled blade and pick would never dull. Balta sent an entire wardrobe  
woven from the wiry yet warm wool of their mountain sheep. From the  
tanneries of Doros Land came an oilskin duster, just the thing to keep dry  
with during sudden mountain snows and storms. The gift from Gannan's  
cobblers had already arrived; Justen had commented how he was sure his new  
boots would serve him well. He told everyone he had already worn them that  
very afternoon while marching his legions toward the Palace.  
  
Kaured's native Geynos had sent a pair of custom made spectacles with very  
special lenses -- they could see through the illusions of the Phantom Tribe.  
Rune had at first objected to Justen's possessing something so  
contradictory to the official Roshtarian position of trusting the Ceruleans.  
She noted even the possession of such things by the royal family could cause  
rumors of mistrust to fester. However, before another argument could erupt,  
Kaured managed to convince his wife it was only for Justen's own security he  
should have such an advantage over any potential assassins.  
  
Makoto chuckled halfheartedly as he and his wife sauntered back to their  
Palace apartment. Fortunately, the group did not again succumb to hysterics  
for the remainder of the evening. Certainly his spleen would have ruptured  
if they had.  
  
He felt a tingling in his hand as his wife opened another link. #What  
troubles you, Makoto?#  
  
#Aside from feeling I'm about to burst?#  
  
#You have that faraway look in your eye again, Makoto. You have said little  
since we left the Great Hall.#  
  
#I--I was just thinking about how it seems that lately every time we see  
Kaured and Rune they seem to be at each other's throats.#  
  
She turned her eyes toward the floor as they walked. #Yes, they do. They  
come from very different backgrounds, you know.#  
  
He said nothing for awhile, lost in thought. #They're not like us,  
Ifurita.#  
  
#Of course they are not, Makoto. They are monarchs -- we are merely  
servants.#  
  
He chuckled so only she could hear. #Rather high ranking servants, it  
seems. But that's not the only difference.#  
  
Ifurita's silvery brows arched quizzically.  
  
#I mean their marriage is so much different from ours, Ifurita. Theirs was  
arranged by advisors and diplomats. I'm sure King Byron and Queen Lastacia  
disappeared long before thinking what would happen in Rune and Fatora's  
future.#  
  
Ifurita understood his meaning. She nudged him as she winked. #True,  
theirs was a political marriage, Makoto. But I think you underestimate  
them. Remember this?#  
  
Makoto blinked as the walls of the hallway shimmered out of existence. He  
hovered motionless in front of one window of the royal chambers. From his  
vantage point, Makoto could see a younger Rune and Kaured dressed in plain  
robes reclining on the futon out on the balcony. Hopping in through the  
window and landing silently on the floor, he walked over toward them.  
  
Kaured and Rune started, breaking their intimate embrace. "L-Lady  
If-f-furita," Rune stammered, "is something amiss? On whose order to you  
appear before us?" She sounded more surprised than angry.  
  
Makoto felt his lips move, but it was not his voice he heard. "Why yours,  
your Majesty. Princess Fatora came to my quarters saying you had insisted I  
come to you right away."  
  
Kaured grunted. "Methinks ye have been had, Lady Ifurita. Rune and I have  
been here all afternoon together making -- OW!"  
  
"What I think my dear husband is trying to say is that we have been here all  
afternoon enjoying one another's company before we entertain the members of  
the Council this evening."  
  
Kaured just nodded, biting his lower lip while trying not to look down where  
Rune had stomped on his foot.  
  
Howling laughter emanated from the apartment across the gardens. "So it  
would seem," Makoto heard Ifurita say while he looked disdainfully over  
toward the opposing balcony. "My apologies, Majesties. By your leave?"  
  
"Of course, Lady Ifurita."  
  
Makoto felt himself hop over the balcony rail just as the present moment  
came back into focus. Makoto chuckled, giving Ifurita a peck on the cheek.  
  
#You're precious.#  
  
#Ask Lady Jilyn -- there are many stories of Rune and Kaured's being caught  
all snuggly.#  
  
Makoto snorted. #She would know, that's for certain.#  
  
#Not to change the subject so quickly, Makoto, but is not next week the  
anniversary of Shevlin and Nanami's joining?#  
  
A look of realization came to Makoto's face. #Yes, that's right! I had  
forgotten all about that! I didn't bother writing it down because--#  
  
#--because you expected them to join us for the Prince's birthday, did you  
not?#  
  
He lamented just how subtle Ifurita's interrogations could be sometimes.  
#All right, all right... yes, I'm disappointed they didn't come.#  
  
Makoto slowed his pace as they continued walking down the wide corridor.  
#Amazing where ten years have gone.#  
  
He stopped, taking Ifurita's hands in both of his. #I remember like  
yesterday the look on Nanami's face when we told her about the Eyes of  
Geynos. It took my breath away -- Nanami looked as if the weight of the  
world had been lifted from her shoulders. Since she didn't have to be the  
eyes of the Intelligence Regiment anymore, I figured she and Shevlin could  
look forward to a normal life at last.#  
  
Ifurita snickered. #Normal I suppose as one could be with an alien mate.#  
  
He chuckled in reply, bringing a smile to Ifurita's face. #Yeah. We should  
know.#  
  
Makoto's smile faded as they began walking again, hand-in-hand. #Roshtaria  
owes many thanks to Nanami and Shevlin for our even being able to celebrate  
such an occasion as today, Ifurita. I couldn't help but wonder if anyone  
but me noticed they weren't there. That's what bothers me most.#  
  
They stopped in front of their door. Ifurita let go of Makoto's hand while  
he worked the latch. "I suspect they feel uncomfortable coming here because  
they feel they have been a political liability to Her Majesty and--"  
  
#Let's finish this inside, shall we?# Makoto interrupted as he took her  
hand. He nodded down the hallway where one of the palace guards stood at  
his post.  
  
No one met them at the door, for Makoto and Ifurita had dismissed their two  
servants for the day before leaving to attend the birthday celebration. He  
surprised himself at how relieved he was that they had the place to  
themselves. Since Ura had failed to meet them at their apartment door,  
Makoto figured she was out doing whatever cats do this time of night.  
  
Both had learned how things said in the wrong place could certainly become  
grist for the Palace's rumor mill. And Makoto knew the subject of their  
conversation had become a very divisive one throughout the Alliance.  
  
"Makoto, I detected nothing from the guard that would suggest to me he even  
heard us, much less comprehended what we were talking about," Ifurita  
scolded him as they dressed for bed. "True, their obvious political  
standing may have something to do with why we have seen little of Nanami and  
Shevlin around the Palace of late. However, I surmise magnesia milk ending  
up mysteriously in the flan Their Majesties served to the Geynosian Allied  
Defenders is the greater reason," she said, wagging her finger at Makoto.  
  
He groaned from underneath his sleeping cloak as he pulled it over his head.  
"Those bastards had it coming and you know it, Ifurita. Don't try to tell  
me you didn't think they got theirs for what they said about Shevlin and  
Nanami."  
  
"On the contrary," she said with a wry grin. "I was quite amused to learn  
Nanami had given them the gift that keeps on giving."  
  
Scrunching up his face in response to his wife's biting wit, Makoto  
continued. "Seriously, Ifurita, attitudes toward the Refugees are hardening  
because of the Cerulean situation. And if that's not bad enough, have you  
noticed lately our Young Prince seems bent on becoming the warmongers'  
errand boy?"  
  
"Do you truly believe that, Makoto?"  
  
He shook his head disgustedly. "To be frank, I'm not quite sure what I  
believe anymore. Rune seems to have talked some sense into him at least. I  
hope."  
  
Ifurita pulled back the covers of their bed as she spoke. "Tomorrow, as the  
Prince makes his first public address, the Fujisawas will be at his side.  
Rune believes, as I do, their presence makes a powerful statement. The  
Royal House shall stand united to extend friendship and tolerance toward our  
former foes."  
  
"Well, from where I was sitting it looked like Justen wasn't at all thrilled  
to share the stage with crusty old heroes from The Great War," Makoto said,  
extinguishing the glow lamp above their bed by tapping on it.  
  
He spoke again before Ifurita could reply. "But how long do Nanami and  
Shevlin have to stay away from the Palace? I--I miss them."  
  
She nuzzled up close to him. #Let us make it a point to have breakfast at  
the Shinonome Cafe tomorrow, Makoto. Would that please you?#  
  
He kissed her forehead as they got comfortable in one another's arms. #Yes.  
Yes it would. G'night, love.#  
  
#I shall be here waiting for you to return from your dreams, Makoto.#  
  
He smiled. #No, Ifurita, you shall be with me. I shall dream only of you.#  
  
As Ifurita sighed contentedly, Makoto reflected how he never tired of saying  
that.  
  
For Makoto, sleep was quick in coming.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	3. Rough Justice Ch 03

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------  
Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----  
Three  
-----  
  
"Not meaning any disrespect, but do you intend to have us stomping around  
out here all night?"  
  
Receiving no answer, Cyrano Rilikan continued walking slightly behind and to  
the left of the cloaked figure. Even with the cool autumn air he was  
grateful he'd worn a simple light shirt and dark trousers instead of his  
uniform. Despite the falling temperatures, he was beginning to work up a  
sweat. His uniform boots sure had come in handy, though. The jagged rocks  
they had meandered through earlier would have torn the soles of his loafers  
right through.  
  
Rilikan's companion picked up the pace, like a hound getting whiff of its  
game. He found himself jogging just to catch up. El Hazard's two moons  
shone brightly in the clear dark sky above them, obscuring the stars and  
providing plenty of light to see by. Now and again Rilikan would pause  
while his companion prodded the ground with the staff end of what looked  
like a long pickax. Every time the pike was withdrawn from the earth, its  
bearer would carefully examine the soiled end. But how could you tell  
where--  
  
"By the Gods, you're not actually *tasting* that thing, are you?"  
  
Jamming the pike abruptly into the ground so it would remain upright,  
Rilikan's companion turned on him while pulling back her hood. "You said  
you wanted to return to Roshtaria with a bag of Shang Tai morels, yes?"  
  
"Well, er... yeah." Despite the pale light, Rilikan could see her gray eyes  
narrow at him. He hated it when she looked at him like that. The blue skin  
on her forehead wrinkled with disgust as she brushed aside a few errant  
strands of her silvery white hair. "But Laria, I do have a long journey  
ahead of me when I leave in the morning. I wanted to get a good night's  
sleep beforehand."  
  
"All the more reason why you should keep quiet! Eet fa'ran nekan fer  
al-Saheed nakonalena asche din t'neal..."  
  
Laria continued chastising him in her mother tongue, as she often did when  
she was disgusted with him. Despite picking out only every other word or  
so, he understood the morels sprouted only after dark. He was pretty  
certain she was saying if he would only keep his big mouth shut for more  
than a few minutes she would certainly find some.  
  
So that is exactly what Rilikan did. Sighing in resignation, he sat down on  
a boulder to watch Laria poke the ground some more with her pike. His mind  
soon filled with thoughts of home while he absent-mindedly gathered his long  
graying hair back into a pony tail. Tomorrow he would be on his way back to  
Roshtaria, where his home and friends would be waiting.  
  
How long had he been here anyway? Twelve, no, more like thirteen months?  
Rilikan remembered then feeling excited and nervous, anxiously anticipating  
his first commission after transferring into The Champion's Legion. Had he  
known then just what had awaited him here in Cerulea, he may well have  
requested a desk assignment -- promotion be damned. "Stranger in a strange  
land" had been an understatement.  
  
How the hell were they supposed to make camp when they couldn't even pound  
tent stakes into this rocky ground? "Get to know the locals, assess their  
culture," Dean Traugot had told him. Never mind knowing them, sometimes  
just *finding* the Ceruleans had been difficult. Reconciling contradictory  
orders from Floristica, acting as liaison when the mining rights  
negotiations stalled, keeping peace within the ranks, trying to learn their  
language: all in a day's work in for the commander of the Royal Cerulean  
Expeditionary Force.  
  
More often lately he found himself silently cursing his own government  
rather than the Ceruleans. As the months went by, Rilikan found himself  
becoming more and more comfortable around these stoic, proud, resilient  
people. He hoped the Floristican brain trust would read his report and come  
to the same conclusion he had. All the Ceruleans really wanted was to be  
left alone to live peaceably.  
  
Sign of the times, he thought while recalling his cadet days at the  
Roshtarian Royal Academy of War. Right after the Eye of God had blinked for  
what everyone thought was the last time, he enrolled like many young men and  
women his age. Had a quarter century really gone by hence? At the time the  
depths of the treachery plotted for years by Galus and the other leaders of  
the Phantom Tribe were just being uncovered. Remaining Tribesmen had  
certainly shown no signs of surrendering quietly. Roshtarians had believed  
the only good Tribesman was a dead one.  
  
And many Roshtarian leaders today viewed the Ceruleans just like that --  
leftovers from Galus' empire. Rilikan's accepting this assignment had  
become political suicide. It had distanced him from many of his old  
Academy mates over those very issues, some whom had become very high in The  
Realm's hierarchy. He could not help but feel chills when al-Farsi had  
explained to him one potential solution to "the Cerulean problem." While he  
had never shirked away from a fight, he felt great trepidation at what he  
knew awaited him within Floristica's audience halls.  
  
Hearing Laria squealing excitedly dissipated Rilikan's dismal thoughts.  
Taking a few steps in the direction from which her voice came, he saw her  
kneeling on the ground behind another boulder. He smiled upon seeing a  
couple of the gnarled light-colored fungi in her hand.  
  
Go figure. The Ceruleans had been very secretive and mistrusting toward him  
at first, yet here was the Great Shamaness of Cerulea herself delighting in  
something as banal as mushroom hunting. He shook his head as he knelt down  
next to where Laria had begun plucking the little mushrooms from the peaty  
soil.  
  
Hardly seemed like he had been with them a year already. Even if he stayed  
with them another decade, Rilikan despaired he would ever understand these  
people.  
  
The two of them managed to fill several small sacks with the morels even  
though they popped a good many in their mouths. "Mind to consume not a  
great number of these at once, my friend," Laria gently admonished. "Ye  
shall find ye with the quickstep if you do."  
  
Rilikan grimaced, knowing the condition Laria referred to described the  
speed and frequency with which one afflicted would visit the latrine. Then  
the realization hit him.  
  
He bolted to his feet, scowling at her. "You mean to tell me the reason I  
was so sick when we first arrived here is because you were trying to poison  
me with these mushrooms?"  
  
"Did your second not tell you to refrain from overeating?" Laria answered,  
standing to face him.  
  
"Yeah, well, we'd been on bivouac beforehand so yours was the first real  
food we'd eaten in a month," he said sheepishly.  
  
"Tch," she said glancing down at Rilikan's middle. "I think your missing a  
meal or two would have no ill effects."  
  
He was about to retort back about how a soldier never knows when his next  
meal will be. But the look on Laria's face made his words catch in his  
throat.  
  
She spoke slowly in a squeaky whisper.  
  
"We are not alone."  
  
Tiny wrinkled mushrooms rolled about in all directions near where the two of  
them had let their sacks drop. Rilikan and Laria stood back to back in a  
defensive stance. His rapier drawn, her pike at the ready, the two of them  
glanced in all directions to locate their unseen aggressors.  
  
"Who--"  
  
Laria cut him off with a sharp, low hiss. That was enough. Rilikan had  
come to trust her incredible, ancient ears. He had heard nothing before; he  
heard nothing now. And he saw nothing, save for what his imagination  
perceived to be enemies behind every outcrop of rock. Who were they?  
Roshtarian? Cerulean? Hard liners on either side were eager to silence  
them both; did it really matter?  
  
Moot point, he thought while berating himself sharply. Wasn't he forever  
warning his own men never to wander out alone after dark?  
  
Laria had heard enough. "Many. Too many," she said, bolting into action  
barely a heartbeat before Rilikan. He turned just in time to see Laria  
strike out at one of the shadows. It went down, gurgling horribly through  
the hole her pike had torn through its throat.  
  
Realizing Laria had forced a hole in their trap, Rilikan knew they had to  
use it -- now.  
  
He heard footfalls behind him. Yes, there were many -- damn, they were  
fast! The remaining attackers uttered nary a peep as they trod over where  
their comrade had fallen. No shouts of alarm, nothing.  
  
They're good, he thought darkly. Too damn good.  
  
Rilikan caught sight of Laria making for the ravine. "Is she mad?," he  
muttered, remembering the footing there was treacherous even in the daytime.  
At the bottom of the steep, rocky embankment, the Jilea River roared,  
disappearing behind a sharp bend a few dozen rods downstream. Taking stock  
of their situation, he realized their aggressors had left them little  
choice. Terrain was a passive enemy, equally dangerous to their pursuers.  
They would have to take their chances.  
  
He could scarce believe his eyes as two of their cloaked foes leapt right  
over his head, landing squarely in front of Laria. Cursing to himself, he  
understood they meant to force them both over the edge. His partner ducked  
and sidestepped to the right without even breaking stride. Rilikan rushed  
in to fill the gap, just as he knew Laria was counting on him to do. He  
lunged forward, aiming low toward his opponent's abdomen. A countering  
blade flashed into his view; steel rang against steel.  
  
Rilikan muscled himself forward, grunting loudly as he slammed his shoulder  
into an enemy at least as heavy as he. It was enough. The blow knocked his  
opponent to the ground, where Rilikan ran him clean through. He twisted his  
rapier savagely, gutting his victim. Spinning toward where Laria defended  
against her own opponent, Rilikan could see she was in trouble. She was  
keeping the bastard at bay with her longer pike, but his lighter weapon  
parried Laria's thrusts easily. He knew she could break their standoff, but  
the attackers had numbers in their favor.  
  
Rilikan crouched, ready to charge when a flicker of movement to his far left  
caught his attention. Instinctively he pivoted toward the new threat,  
clumsily parrying a swipe he swore had been fast enough to whistle.  
Stumbling back from the impact, he managed to tear his attacker's hood with  
his flailing blade.  
  
Dread and loathing overtook him as he glimpsed his attacker's features in  
the dim moonlight. "Dear Gods," he breathed.  
  
His opponent took full advantage of his hesitation. Although he tried to  
deflect the blow, Rilikan knew his effort was futile. He screamed in agony  
as his shoulder shattered underneath his attacker's heavy truncheon. Barely  
conscious as he crumpled to the ground, his vision blanked out as the  
explosive pain numbed his senses.  
  
And then he felt nothing. Nothing at all.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	4. Rough Justice Ch 04

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------  
Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----  
Four  
----  
  
"Citizens, it is with all humility that I embark upon the task that has been  
entrusted me. I say this for like many here, I am not old enough to  
remember the Bugrom War. I was not yet born when the might of the Bugrom  
Empire was turned against the Alliance, when the treachery of the Phantom  
Tribe brought Roshtaria to the brink of utter ruin. But the legacy of that  
war weighs heavily upon me. I see it in the face of my father when he  
speaks of the terrible ordeals he and his family endured, when he speaks of  
the terrible battles in which he fought. I hear it in the voice of my  
mother when she speaks of that madman Galus and his cruel betrayal. All  
told, my family is but one of thousands who have suffered at the hands of  
our enemies. Could not tales of loss and suffering be told by any one of us  
gathered here today?"  
  
Masamichi Fujisawa frowned inconspicuously as he watched the young Prince  
addressing the masses packed into Floristica's great semicircular  
amphitheater. He and his wife Miz Mishtal sat slightly behind and to the  
left of the podium Justen stood behind. "Don't lay it on *too* thick, boy,"  
he muttered loud enough only for her to hear. Miz said nothing, but the  
look she gave him spoke volumes. He knew it well after living together all  
these years, raising their daughter. She was resoundingly clear she  
believed now was neither the time nor place for editorializing.  
  
"Citizens!" Prince Justen continued in his clear, resounding voice.  
"Tomorrow when I embark upon my mission to Cerulea I will be taking with me  
more than the finest soldiers in the Alliance. I will be taking with me the  
hard lessons our people have learned from the cruel war that was thrust upon  
us. And I believe the greatest lesson is this: whatever terrible weapons  
our enemies unleash, our greatest defense is forever found within each one  
of us! The strength and honor inside us all has made this nation great, and  
shall carry the day irrespective of the challenges ahead. With me today are  
two whose strength and honor created a better day for us all. Join me in  
honoring two of Roshtaria's finest -- Lord Fujisawa and Lady Miz!"  
  
A hearty cheer rose up from the throng encircling them. Miz and Fujisawa  
both took their cue, smiling and waving toward the assembly. "Got to hand  
it to him, he knows how to work a crowd," he spoke aloud, knowing only his  
wife could hear him above the thunderous applause.  
  
"I don't think his voice can last much longer," Miz said. "He'll be  
wrapping up soon." There was a hint of relief in her carefully measured  
tone, a feeling he could empathize with. Justen was more or less behaving  
himself, but the subtext of his speech was making both of them  
uncomfortable. Earlier Justen had made vague and passing references to how  
he planned to execute his orders. While Fujisawa conceded the Realm  
required geynosanium to mitigate the threat rogue Tribesmen posed to the  
Alliance and its colonists, what Prince Justen called for in Cerulea was  
nothing short of annexation. Fujisawa came to a disturbing realization --  
al-Farsi and his ilk had turned the Prince into their poster boy.  
  
Justen raised his arms to silence the cheering crowd. "I shall make it my  
mission to ensure that Cerulea shall join the Alliance peaceably. I shall  
not rest until all Alliance citizens can journey through Cerulea with no  
more fear than if they were walking the streets of Floristica itself!"  
  
And with that the masses took to their feet. Fujisawa hmphed to himself as  
he gazed around the amphitheater at the cheering mob. Surely the merchants  
and shipbuilders were cheering the loudest, eagerly anticipating a new  
influx of geynosanium Justen's Mountaineers were all but certain to provide.  
  
"So here we find ourselves, my fellow Roshtarians. We stand at a crossroads  
with two paths before us. One leads to uncertainty and suspicion, the other  
to security and peace. For ourselves and our posterity, the latter choice  
is the one we must choose now and--"  
  
Primal fear replaced melancholy as Fujisawa's peripheral vision suddenly  
went white. The concussion blew him clear out of his seat, sprawling him  
roughly across the stage before him. He winced painfully as the blast's  
report pounded his eardrums.  
  
Then all hell broke loose.  
  
Voices came from everywhere. Some sobbed, some shouted. Some were scared,  
some stoic. A few barked orders and demanded status reports. But as  
Fujisawa shook his head to clear it, there was only one voice he needed to  
hear. As his vision came back into focus, he scanned the stage frantically.  
Where the hell was Miz?  
  
Painfully, Fujisawa got to his feet. Across the amphitheater, bedlam  
ensued. Panic had set in despite the best measures of the Palace Guard to  
prevent a riot. On the side of the stage opposite where he and Miz had been  
sitting, he could see Captain Seecham rallying his men. He felt relieved  
twice over as he saw Miz with two of the Mountaineers, helping the dazed  
Prince to his feet. Seecham pointed toward the Prince, and instantly an  
armed detachment surrounded the both of them. Their escorts hurried them  
toward the planned emergency exit. Satisfied his wife and the Prince would  
soon be safe, Fujisawa hurried to catch up with Seecham. If the blast had  
trapped anyone underneath piles of rubble, his abilities would surely be  
needed.  
  
A second explosion rocked the stage, followed within seconds by a third.  
Fujisawa and everyone else on the stage stopped, looking around madly to  
locate from where the blasts had come. They had been further away and  
muffled, as if they came from underneath the amphitheater itself. Fujisawa  
relaxed slightly. The explosions had had no visible effects, save whipping  
the crowd's panic into a frenzy. He dismally thought even that was damage  
enough. He stiffened in mute horror when he turned his attention toward the  
spectator exits. All the portals had become unmoving masses of people. He  
felt sick as his hearing returned enough to register the screams and moans  
of those being crushed and trampled. Fujisawa stood stupefied as he watched  
people being pushed back away from the exits and out into the amphitheater.  
A moment later the reason became patently clear.  
  
Alarming amounts of gray-green smoke poured out of every exit and vent in  
the great building. Fujisawa's brow furrowed as he recalled the whole  
building was of built from stone and brick. So what the hell could be  
burning so fiercely?  
  
His stomach knotted when Fujisawa heard his wife scream over the din and his  
ringing ears. He turned and vaulted the fifty or so feet between them in a  
single leap. As his superhuman legs carried him aloft, Fujisawa saw the  
guards at the front of the procession leading Miz and Justen to safety drop  
to their knees, grabbing at their throats. He had assumed the cloud they  
were heading toward on the way to the exit was dust kicked up from the  
blast. But watching as the two guards writhed around on the floor gasping  
for air, he knew someone had planned something much more sinister.  
  
Fujisawa pulled his wife and the still woozy Prince away from the other men.  
Now two more guards had gone down trying to aid their comrades. The first  
pair coughed uncontrollably, spewing blood into great clouds of red mist.  
Past where Seecham was ordering his guards to scurry the remaining  
dignitaries to safety, he could see the same scene playing itself out at the  
other exit.  
  
Knowing he had no time to waste, Fujisawa unceremoniously hoisted his wife  
over one shoulder and the Justen over the other. He hoofed them along like  
two sacks of grain, running back to the front of the stage to escape the  
billowing cloud.  
  
Fujisawa took a deep breath to mentally balance himself. This did not look  
good. Not good at all.  
  
He set Miz back on her feet as he frantically gazed about. Panic tore at  
his mind as he looked for an escape route when he knew none existed. The  
ominous smoke bore down upon them from all sides. In seconds all three of  
them would be enveloped by the clouds of gas looming all round.  
  
As Miz's eyes met his, Fujisawa felt a strange calm in the midst of chaos.  
They exchanged glances, once again using the silent language they had  
created over the years they had been together. He saw in her eyes not  
resignation, but resolution. He nodded. Yes, he understood. He knew what  
both of them had to do.  
  
Ai. Their precious daughter. Mother of their grandson. A long time ago,  
Ifurita had given them a priceless gift -- the chance to see another sunrise  
with their child. She had risked herself to rescue Ai on Earth during the  
Silent Invasion of the Phantom Tribe. Today, despite the sacrifice  
required, they would pass along the favor. They would see to it another  
mother and her child were reunited.  
  
Fujisawa longed for his wife's embrace in a way he had never experienced.  
He saw her looking at him, eyes telling him she felt the same. The passion  
with which they kissed afforded them momentary respite from the grim task  
ahead. Fujisawa took her at arms length, drinking in the sight of her  
before him.  
  
"M-Miz, I l-love you," he stammered, as the poisonous cloud began wafting  
around their feet.  
  
Miz nodded, as he wiped a single tear away from her cheek. "And I you,  
Masamichi."  
  
She quickly removed her scarf, dunking it into a pitcher of water from a  
table near the podium. Justen blinked stupidly at her, as if his eyes were  
failing to bring her image into focus. Blood trickled from the Prince's  
ears and nose -- classic signs, Fujisawa concluded, he had sustained a  
concussion. He was probably seeing double.  
  
"Lady Miz, what are you--"  
  
"Close your eyes tightly and take shallow breaths," Miz interrupted,  
wrapping the soaked towel tight around Justen's head. Fujisawa took the  
wobbly Prince in both arms while his wife climbed up on his back. Locking  
her arms around her husband's neck, she whispered gently in his ear. "I'm  
ready," she breathed.  
  
"Miz, you should cover--"  
  
"You will be blind," she said with finality. "My elemental senses can guide  
us, but not if my face is wrapped up. Now go."  
  
Fujisawa simply nodded. He squatted down into a crouch. On the other side  
of the wall at the rear of the stage laid Palace Way. The street outside  
would afford them a marginally higher measure of safety, but they had to get  
there first.  
  
And Fujisawa had already predicted their chances.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
With a grunt, Fujisawa hurled the three of them headlong into the billowing  
greenish-gray cloud.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Can't we fly any faster?"  
  
"If you had refrained from eating those pecan rolls like I told you, we  
might!"  
  
"Oh, yeah? And who ate that whole stack of double chocolate flat cakes by  
herself yesterday?"  
  
"I didn't want them to go to waste! I wouldn't have needed to if you  
weren't so damn fussy!"  
  
"Yeah, well maybe if *you* were more fussy you'd be able to still fit into  
your ablution garments!"  
  
The Great Priestesses of Wind and Fire continued sniping at each other while  
making their best possible speed towards Floristica. Elena Mahre had sensed  
the massive disturbances in the air currents all the way out on Abrigidal  
Plain. There she and Kiku-Kiku had spent the day running the ropes courses  
with their acolytes, under the watchful eyes of the Elder Sisters.  
  
Shayla-Shayla and Afura Mann had dispatched them to go on ahead to  
investigate, after Elena had consulted with Afura regarding the wind  
disruptions. The Elders would follow behind on the ground with the  
acolytes. Cresting the top of Mount Knowlan, Elena and Kiku could see the  
smoke plumes heading upward into the sky above Floristica.  
  
The two of them fell silent as they neared the city. Shock overtook them  
both as they bore mute witness to the disaster before them. The streets  
were jammed with people fleeing the burning amphitheater. Enormous clouds  
of smoke rose from the building, darkening the sky above.  
  
"I'm detecting three centers of incendiary activity down there," Kiku  
proclaimed, nodding toward the amphitheater while her brown hair flopped  
across her face. "They're just ahead of us -- two on our right and one to  
our left."  
  
"Huh," Kiku added, furrowing her brow. "That's strange."  
  
"What, that you said something useful?"  
  
Kiku glared at her. "Give it a rest, Windbag. I mean there's something  
weird about those fires over there. Way too little heat for all that  
smoke."  
  
Elena's only reply was to begin hacking. Her long blonde braid shook  
violently while she struggled to regain her breath. Kiku clutched Elena's  
belt in a death grip, fearful her fellow Priestess might decorate the  
landscape below with the both of them.  
  
"HEYHEYHEY! Girlfriend, we are losing serious altitude here! Awright  
awright awright -- I take back what I said about your ablution clothes,  
already!  
  
"ELENA!?!?! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!?!?!?"  
  
Kiku could see the tears streaming rolling out of the corner of Elena's eyes  
as she fought to regain her composure. "G-gods," she spat as they leveled  
off.  
  
"Just what the bloody hell was that all about?"  
  
"You... were... right," Elena stammered. "That's no ordinary fire." She  
coughed a couple more times before continuing. "I just now had the Wind  
bring a little wisp of the air from within the amphitheater to me. There is  
some kind of toxin in the air, and it's really strong."  
  
"Gods, Elena... there could be poison gas! Make like the wind!"  
  
"Hang on," she replied.  
  
Kiku grunted, wondering silently whether her shoulders had dislocated from  
the sudden acceleration. Elena spared no time closing the distance between  
them and the amphitheater.  
  
"What's that?" Kiku asked of her pilot.  
  
"What's what?"  
  
"That." Kiku wrapped one arm around Elena's middle before pointing off to  
their left with her free hand.  
  
They could make out a lone figure hovering above the amphitheater, holding  
what looked to be an ornately carved staff. Little tornadoes danced and  
swirled all about, preventing either of them from making out just whom they  
were looking at. All at once the vortexes plummeted, swirling into the  
gaseous clouds below. Elena halted their flight, recoiling in horror as  
they both realized who stood before them.  
  
"Th-that's Ifurita!" she shrilled. "Y-you d-don't think sh-she's--"  
  
"Catch a clue, Airhead," Kiku retorted, not admitting that for a moment she  
had entertained the same notion. "Obviously she's trying to extinguish the  
fire."  
  
"Dear Gods," Elena breathed. Then she shouted to her partner, "We've got to  
stop her!" Kiku grunted her assent. Both of them understood how Fire and  
Wind worked together well enough. What Ifurita was doing would make an  
already bad situation worse.  
  
Ifurita stood panting in midair, holding her staff in both hands. She  
acknowledged them with a curt nod as Elena drew close. "What the hell is  
going on?" Kiku shouted to her.  
  
"Gas attack. I just got here... thought I could do something to help." She  
pointed toward the cloud beneath them. "I sensed your approach, so I sent  
those will-o'-the-wisps down to purge the gas from the area near the stage."  
  
Ifurita's normal unsettlingly cool composure began to unravel as she  
continued. "Miz and Fujisawa are down there somewhere with Prince Justen!"  
  
"Please," she begged, "help me find them!"  
  
Elena and Kiku gasped. Far above the amphitheater, they had a bird's eye  
view of the carnage below. They saw the bodies of those who had been  
trampled beneath the mad crowds and many more that had been succumbed to the  
gas. But Elena's horror soon turned to anger.  
  
Elena grabbed Ifurita roughly by the shoulder, shaking her madly. "Just  
what the Seven Hells are you thinking?!" she barked. "You're only fanning  
the flames!"  
  
Ifurita stared back dumbfounded at her accuser. "But I thought--"  
  
"Amateurs like you can hardly use the Power of Wind for much more than a  
battering ram, Demon-God!" Elena shouted.  
  
"Hey, trim them sails, Windbag," Kiku rebuked her. Ifurita said nothing.  
Kiku saw the horror in Ifurita's eyes as Elena's words sunk in. "I know you  
were trying to help, ma'am, but leave this one to us," she said, poking  
Elena's shoulder with one finger. "I don't often agree with Airhead here,  
but she's calling this one right."  
  
"Very well," Ifurita said, shamefully turning away from them. "I shall  
remove a few of the exterior walls to enable people to make egress."  
  
"Fine, then," Elena snarled. "Hang on, Hothead!" she impatiently shouted  
over her shoulder to Kiku. "We'll need an air pocket to breathe while we go  
down there. Have your Lamp ready for when we find the fire's source."  
  
"I think I can make out the combustion centers from here," Kiku said,  
staring intently down toward the amphitheater's stage. "I see one!" she  
exclaimed, brown eyes wide while she pointed. "Drop me down there, El!"  
  
"Got it," Elena replied.  
  
Kiku glanced sadly toward Ifurita as the two of them descended into the ugly  
greenish-gray cloud. The Demon-God hovered motionless, looking as if she  
had just been slapped. Kiku felt for her. When they returned to Muldoon,  
she and Elena would have words.  
  
Ifurita's reaction struck Kiku as especially ironic, given Ifurita could  
flatten all of Floristica if she ever took the notion to.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"This way, Elena!"  
  
Elena silently hoped Kiku knew what she was doing. Their flight had ended  
at the edge of the amphitheater's stage. It had taken Kiku only a few  
minutes to locate the combustion source in the tunnels below where they  
landed. They held hands to keep Kiku within the pocket of breathable air  
Elena was producing for them. Elena had explained that should Kiku step  
outside of the air pocket's protection, she would suffer the same fate as  
the guards they had passed.  
  
Poor bastards, Elena thought. They had almost tripped over the bodies of  
several guards who had been overtaken by the gas. As they ran, Elena tried  
to put the horrific images out of her mind. Even now they were especially  
hard to forget. Many of the guards lay with their eyes bugging out of their  
heads. Several died grabbing at their throats, their tongues hanging out of  
the corner of their mouths. A few lay faces down in puddles of their own  
blood, undoubtedly coughed up in their last terrible moments of life as  
their lungs disintegrated.  
  
She was grateful, really, when Kiku interrupted her dismal thoughts. "There  
it is!" she said. "Hey, girl, you all right?"  
  
"Y-yes," Elena stuttered. "I'm fine," she feigned, knowing Kiku knew  
better.  
  
In front of them appeared to be what looked like a simple smudge pot. Elena  
knew them well after having helped her father for years tend the family  
orchards, where they slowly smoked all night to keep the insects away from  
the fruit. But this one was much larger than any she had ever seen. She  
guessed it to be roughly six feet tall and eight feet in diameter. The  
poisonous smoke billowing from the top of the pot was thick enough to  
obscure their view.  
  
To Elena, something just did not look right. "I don't see anything  
burning!"  
  
"There's something burning all right, I can sense it," Kiku replied.  
  
"Damn!" Elena barked. "That stupid Demon-God fanned the flames after all!"  
  
"That's not her fault, El. Ifurita doesn't have our elemental vision,  
remember? Her heat sensors could never have picked up a smoldering fire way  
down here."  
  
Elena grunted in reply as a look of inspiration passed across Kiku's face.  
  
"Hang on, I'm going to try something, Elena," she said, bracing herself.  
With a cry, she yanked the ripcord on the Lamp fastened to her left wrist.  
Blue flame instantly encircled Kiku, emanating from the red jewels stitched  
into her headband, epaulets and belt. "We need to move back, though."  
  
The two of them sprinted about twenty paces away from the smoldering pot.  
Kiku bowed her head, balling both fists as her Lamp glowed white hot. She  
screamed as she lunged toward the smudge pot, thrusting her open palms in  
front of her.  
  
A bolt of bluish-white fire streaked from Kiku's fingers, hitting the pot  
right near its rim. Elena felt the back draft created by the bolt as it  
exploded with a blinding light. She heard a great sucking noise as the  
smudge pot seemed to implode upon itself. Another whiff of smoke puffed out  
of the pot, then nothing.  
  
Elena looked over at Kiku, who stood next to her panting. She held her  
hands ready to cast another bolt if necessary. "I- I think you snuffed it  
out, Key," Elena said, sniffing at the air cautiously. "There doesn't seem  
to be any more smoke coming out of it."  
  
Kiku started snickering nervously. "I didn't know for sure if that would  
work," she confessed.  
  
"Well, whatever you did, it looks like it--"  
  
The pot loudly belched another cloud of the poisonous smoke. Elena cursed,  
reinforcing the little pocket of air around them. "Calm down," Kiku barked,  
"I'll try again!"  
  
Just as Kiku wound up for another bolt, Elena felt the hair stand up on the  
back of her neck. She shook Kiku's shoulder urgently. "WHAT!?" Kiku  
snapped, turning on her.  
  
Elena's finger shook as she pointed down the corridor. "Massive air  
disturbance headed this way!" And fast.  
  
"Get down!" Elena hollered, yanking Kiku roughly to the floor.  
  
A blast of air rushed over their heads. Nary a heartbeat later, a wall of  
water the height of the corridor slammed into them. Elena's pocket of air  
surrounding her and Kiku imploded, her concentration broken from the impact.  
Enveloped in water, they tumbled roughly over each another while struggling  
impotently against the current.  
  
The water roared down the corridor, smacking into the smudge pot with the  
force of a tidal wave. Kiku and Elena bounced off the walls, the floor, and  
each other before finally coming to rest in an undignified heap.  
  
Coughing and sputtering, the two priestesses managed to get to their feet.  
Elena rebuilt her air pocket with a wave of her hand to protect her and Kiku  
from any residual gas. She saw the smudge pot bowled over on its side,  
contents spilled all over the floor. The flow of poisonous smoke from the  
pot had finally ceased, its smoldering fire quenched.  
  
"You're late, Qawool," Elena shouted as she wiped her dripping wet golden  
bangs from her eyes.  
  
The Great Priestess of Water tossed her long blue hair back as she shushed  
by surrounded by a shroud of charmed water. She slid toward the overturned  
pot, sending up her signature water spray before stepping down to face them.  
  
Her aura of water shattered into a million tiny droplets as she stepped  
within Elena's air pocket. "Yes, well, I took a little detour on the way to  
douse another two smudge pots."  
  
"Well, that should be the last of 'em," Kiku said as she looked around.  
"Sure glad you showed up." She looked forlornly toward where the drenched  
smudge pot sat upended. "My little gimmick didn't work as advertised."  
  
Qawool tsked. "We can talk about that later," she said. Her tone told Kiku  
and Elena she was asserting herself as the eldest Great Priestess. Qawool  
had served for many years with their predecessors. Elena and Kiku both paid  
her the deference she had long since earned.  
  
Elena realized Qawool probably did not know what Ifurita had told them up  
above. "Ifurita had asked us if we would help look for Prince Justen. He  
was here with Lord Fujisawa and Lady Miz--"  
  
Qawool's face went pale. "You mean the Elder Sister is here!?" she said  
incredulously, cutting her off. "Right now!?!?!"  
  
She did not wait for either of them to answer. "Both of you, come with me!"  
she exclaimed. "Here," Qawool said to Kiku while pulling her sash free of  
her billowy trousers. "Take my sash and hold tight."  
  
"Right," Kiku complied.  
  
"Elena, follow us back aboveground. Can you create a vortex large enough to  
carry away the remaining gas?"  
  
"Without even trying hard," she replied confidently. Qawool enshrouded her  
and Kiku with her water while Elena shrunk her air pocket. They wasted no  
time returning to the surface.  
  
Elena knew their friends might not have much time left.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ifurita drew a bead upon the wall before her. From the tip of her staff  
came a very controlled and precise beam, creating an opening large enough  
for people to fit through. Satisfied, she once again took to the air above  
the panicked crowd.  
  
"This way, everyone," she yelled, flying low enough over their heads to  
attract their attention.  
  
The crowd saw their salvation at hand through the hole Ifurita had created.  
People stampeded toward the relative freedom and safety offered along Palace  
Way. Some ran, others hobbled, many being helped along as they gasped and  
gagged. Several pleaded with Ifurita, wailing as they beseeched her to help  
them find their friends and loved ones. Everyone needed to vacate, she told  
them over and over, to prevent them from impairing the city guard's search  
and rescue effort.  
  
So it went as she perforated the amphitheater's perimeter with several more  
openings. As she finished the last one, she could feel the air move all  
around her. She looked above her, seeing Elena's form silhouetted against  
the sun. The air moved more quickly now in a great maelstrom, gaining  
momentum with each passing moment.  
  
Ifurita touched down at the rim of the amphitheater, sinking her fingers  
into a section of railing pipe. The maelstrom of air soon drew all the  
poisonous smoke within itself. Raising both hands above her head, Elena  
directed the swirling air upwards. The remaining gas rose away from the  
amphitheater, dissipating harmlessly into the atmosphere high above them.  
  
She felt the tension release from her shoulders, thankful the immediate  
threat to her friends had passed. But Ifurita noticed a chilling similarity  
between the phenomenon she saw now and those she remembered from years ago  
on an ancient field of battle. The gas had spread over the top of the  
vortex, billowing down its sides.  
  
She recalled Makoto describing his homeland having seen such things before,  
over places called Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  
  
A giant mushroom cloud.  
  
Ifurita heard the timbre from the thousands of voices she could discern had  
change somewhat. There was a little less panic now. She heard a few cries  
of joy and relief as some realized they were saved. But most of the voices  
she heard were weeping -- either fearfully for the missing, or mournfully  
for the dead.  
  
She realized now the real task began. "Elena," she called, flying up to  
where the Priestess of Wind hovered tiredly above the amphitheater. "I have  
not yet found Miz, Fujisawa or the Prince!"  
  
"Qawool is here now looking outside with Kiku," Elena panted. "I'll hook up  
with them and keep searching."  
  
"Right, then. I shall look around in here."  
  
"Wait, Ifurita! I--"  
  
Ifurita was off before Elena could finish. She flew above the stands of the  
amphitheater, empty now save for the bodies of those killed by the gas or  
trampled to death under the panicked throngs. Incredibly, her sensors  
registered several vital signs amidst the carnage. They were strewn about  
the amphitheater, most nowhere near the stage where the Prince had been  
last. She homed in on one of them, feeling like she had to help whoever it  
was.  
  
#They are not your primary concern.#  
  
She hated herself for it, but realized The Voices were right. Once they  
were her taskmasters, though now she had come to depend on them as her  
tactical advisers. They reminded her of the old language's word for that  
terrible necessity learned from countless theaters of battle. But what she  
remembered now was the word from Makoto's people instead.  
  
Triage.  
  
Panic began to tear at her senses as she frantically zoomed through the  
tunnels beneath the amphitheater. She saw little along their planned escape  
route save the Royal Guards, not a one of them registering any signs of  
life. To her, this scene looked all too familiar -- like a page torn from a  
book of her horrible past. The aftermath of a gas attack was nothing new to  
a Demon-God. Familiar scents from the battlefields of the past ages  
assailed her enhanced olfactories. The ruined bodies strewn about the  
tunnel reeked of blood and vomit, bile and excrement. Looking at the  
grotesquely contorted faces around her, Ifurita thought she could almost  
hear the awful sounds of their death throes.  
  
She was not at all sure what made her more afraid; not finding her friends  
or finding them like *this*. "No," she breathed, oblivious to the wall  
rushing up to meet her.  
  
At the last possible moment Ifurita turned, rocketing upwards toward the  
surface. She blew the roof off the little shelter covering the stairwell.  
"They must have come this way," she muttered as she frantically scanned the  
crowds below her for familiar faces. "They must have."  
  
Ifurita finally made out the Priestesses. Off like a shot, she flew up and  
over the crowds to where they grouped together with several medics.  
"Gods... no!" she squeaked, landing next to them an instant later.  
  
Her knees almost gave out completely as her brain comprehended the horror  
taking place in front of her.  
  
Qawool Towles knelt on the ground, back towards her. Miz lay there  
motionless as her younger Sister held her head gently in her lap. The  
Priestess of Water sobbed hysterically, begging and pleading the Gods above  
to spare her Elder Sister's life. Ifurita could not see Miz's face, but the  
blood splattered all around told her what the corpsmen must already know.  
  
They were too late.  
  
Instinctively, Ifurita averted her eyes. When she looked up a moment later,  
she noticed Prince Justen hobbling toward them. With a Mountaineer under  
each arm helping him along, they made their way to where Miz and Fujisawa  
lay. Justen favored his right leg, only taking half-steps with his left.  
Ifurita felt her heart stop as Justen doubled over, coughing and gagging.  
But after a moment he caught his breath. He was visibly shaken, bloodied  
and bruised, but he was alive.  
  
Ifurita smiled slightly, relieved tremendously that the Prince was being  
cared for. She heard him gasp as he glimpsed Miz with Qawool. The horror  
in his face plain to see, Ifurita slowly shook her head. But she could not  
bring herself to meet his gaze, so simply stared at Justen's feet. Even  
over the chaos, her sensitive hearing could hear him stammering, vainly  
trying to make sense where none existed.  
  
Glancing to her right, Ifurita spied Kiku kneeling over who she believed to  
be Fujisawa. Her heart leapt, for her sensors still registered his vital  
signs. With a single leap she was at his side.  
  
Even a thousand years of war had not prepared her for what she saw now.  
  
Fujisawa thrashed madly while Kiku and Elena did their best to restrain him.  
He coughed savagely, spewing blood and bile over them all. Despite the  
Priestesses trying to hold him still to let the medics attach a breather,  
Ifurita realized he was beyond help.  
  
She knelt down beside where Elena tried desperately to keep him calm.  
Without warning, Fujisawa clutched Ifurita's shoulder with strength that  
would have certainly crushed ordinary human bone. His wild, staring eyes  
locking on hers, Fujisawa jawed impotently like a beached fish. He was  
trying to say something, but his lungs were hopelessly flooded. What could  
he possibly want to tell her in the last moments of his life?  
  
"Fujisawa, my friend--" she began, biting back her tears.  
  
#--your wife is dead,# the Voices silently finished.  
  
No, she said silently, vowing the voice Fujisawa would hear would be hers  
and hers alone.  
  
"Masamichi... the Prince is... alive," Ifurita half spoke, half sobbed.  
"You and Miz... you saved him. Both of you."  
  
But Fujisawa did not seem able to hear her. Even while Ifurita's sensors  
detected brain waves fading into white noise, he simply stared at her madly.  
Soon, the fingers Fujisawa had sank into her shoulder went limp. His eyes  
glazed over as his convulsing ceased. His visage became peaceful as his  
chest rose and fell one final time.  
  
Her memories flashed back to a hospital room on Earth so many years ago. In  
a terrible instant, Ifurita found herself haunted by words of gratitude  
spoken by the young mother lying in the hospital bed. She had just reunited  
Miz and baby Ai after the savage Tribe attack that had separated them.  
  
Until now, those words had given her pride and a sense of purpose. But now,  
Ifurita's mind struggled with the bitter irony they contained. For all her  
powers and abilities, today she believed she had failed to protect her  
friends and countrymen. Ifurita's heart shattered, those words taunting at  
her over and over and over.  
  
"Ifurita, for my life and hers, I thank you."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
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	5. Rough Justice Ch 05

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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----  
Five  
----  
  
"That is when..."  
  
Makoto gave Ifurita's hand an encouraging squeeze as she paused to collect  
herself. Rune and Kaured sat together on cushions at the far end of the  
reflecting pool. The audience chamber of the Floristican Palace was filled  
with diplomats, officers, scientists and academics; all had responded  
swiftly to convene this emergency assembly.  
  
"Please, Champion," Kaured implored, "go on."  
  
Makoto bit his lip, knowing at the moment Ifurita doubted her worthiness to  
bear that title.  
  
"That is when I brought Prince Justen back to the Palace, your Majesties,"  
she continued. "He told me en route how Lord Fujisawa had carried him over  
the poisonous smoke, guided by Lady Miz." Makoto noticed the slight tremor  
in her voice, but doubted anyone else had. "I knew he would require medical  
treatment, so I brought him here to the Palace infirmary."  
  
Kaured nodded, appearing to give his consent to Ifurita's decision. He  
lowered his head, pulling at his graying beard as he sighed. Rune sat  
silently, staring at the floor. Her characteristic poise and presence had  
been thoroughly and noticeably shaken since the attack.  
  
Makoto looked over across the reflecting pool from where he and Ifurita were  
seated. It was becoming more difficult by the minute not to think about the  
significance of the two empty cushions that lay there.  
  
His attention turned to the man seated next to the empty cushions who rose  
to address the assembly. He appeared to Makoto to be considering his words  
carefully. His olive-colored brow furrowed and his bushy brown eyebrows  
knit as though in deep thought. Makoto grimaced; he was afraid he had a  
good idea what the tall man would say.  
  
"My countrymen," he began after Kaured's acknowledgment, "this savage attack  
simply cannot go unanswered. We owe to our children and to each other our  
best efforts to find the mongrels responsible for this travesty, and hold  
them accountable," he said, punching his palm with the other fist.  
  
"Minister, what suspects have you thus far considered?" Kaured asked on  
behalf of the entire group.  
  
Ahlid al-Farsi twirled the small braid at the end of his long brown beard as  
he continued. "Majesty, it is far too early for my ministry to declare a  
prime suspect. We will work with the Royal Guard to scour the site for  
clues as to who perpetrated this terrible deed. But I would be doing the  
Realm a disservice not to play my hunches."  
  
Here it comes, Makoto thought.  
  
"I am convinced further investigation will reveal that the Cerulean Nation  
had at least a supporting role in--"  
  
His words were drowned out by roars of disagreement from all around the  
room. But Makoto could easily see the lines of division within the  
assembly. As he looked around the chamber, he could see equal numbers of  
those who decried al-Farsi as a bigot and warmonger and those who had  
supported his hard line policies to obtain the geynosanium mining rights.  
  
The volume in the room grew rapidly. Makoto saw the look of determination  
on Londs' face as the old man began to rise, ostensibly to quiet the room.  
  
"SILENCE!"  
  
Rune's voice pealed like a bell throughout the chamber and the assembly fell  
silent. Everyone looked to her now, standing between were Kaured and Londs  
sat. Her smoldering eyes swept across the assembly with the slow precision  
of a searchlight, daring anyone to speak out of turn.  
  
There were no takers.  
  
"Minister al-Farsi," she began, glaring at him. "You will begin conducting  
a full investigation into this matter at first light. You shall report to  
us at sundown every day your investigation's progress. Any significant  
findings shall be reported to us at once. Effective immediately until such  
time as my son is able to resume his command, I appoint Deputy Commander  
Leonid to assume command of the Royal Mountaineers. They shall provide  
security for the scene and for the physical evidence beginning now and until  
further notice. My Champion shall accompany you to ensure a fair and  
reasonable examination of whatever evidence you do find.  
  
"Do I make myself clear, Minister?" she finished, indicating by her tone it  
was a rhetorical question.  
  
Makoto could feel Ifurita's hackles rise as al-Farsi coldly looked their  
way. "Yes, your Majesty," he said resignedly.  
  
Rune glanced sadly toward the two empty cushions at her right. "Minister  
Carnellian, please attend to the funeral preparations for our fallen  
heroes."  
"At once, Majesty," the balding, stocky man next to al-Farsi answered.  
  
Makoto watched Rune turn and hurry from the chamber while Kaured stared  
mutely after her. Certainly she was on her way to the infirmary to check up  
on Justen. The king blinked stupidly a couple times before clearing his  
throat in an attempt to maintain the dignity of the proceedings. "We shall  
convene again at sundown tomorrow to hear Minister al-Farsi's report," he  
said, dismissing everyone.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The cold autumn rain showed no sign of letting up. Makoto and Ifurita  
wandered the dark and empty streets of Floristica, making their way back to  
the Palace. Neither had said a word to the other since leaving The  
Shinonome Café, where Nanami and Shevlin had immediately closed up after  
hearing the news about her former sensei and his wife. Makoto could not  
recall a time before he saw Nanami so horrified as when Ifurita coolly told  
them what fate had befallen the Fujisawas.  
  
To wit, Ifurita's indifferent demeanor chilled him more than the cold rain  
ever could. He had been fumbling for the right words to say to her ever  
since they had left the royal audience chamber, but to no avail. Being  
forced to work with al-Farsi was one thing, but Ifurita doing so while  
hardly beginning to cope with the loss of their friends troubled him.  
Unsure enough of his own feelings, he could only imagine what was going  
through Ifurita's mind at the moment. It certainly didn't give him any more  
confidence in his ability to say something -- anything -- he believed would  
bring his wife comfort.  
  
After a time they entered the Palace proper. Makoto, grateful to be inside  
and out of the weather, paused momentarily to shed his oilskin and hood.  
But Ifurita hurried past without a word, leaving little drops of water  
behind as she walked. "Wait," he called after his wife as he trotted to  
catch up to her.  
  
But Ifurita appeared to not be listening. He caught up to her as she worked  
the latch of their apartment door. He placed a hand on her shoulder as the  
door swung open. "Ifurita, what--"  
  
The words stuck in his throat as her eyes met his. All those years ago,  
when an entire civilization trembled at the mere utterance of her name, he  
had seen her for who she really was. Then, Makoto had seen the spark of a  
soul behind those eyes, long trapped by centuries of abuse, manipulation,  
and battle.  
  
But those eyes were vacant now. What he failed to see in her eyes was that  
sparkle that had become her trademark. She looked tired, numb, and weary.  
Never had he seen his wife so weak and helpless.  
  
"Home now? Home now?"  
  
Ifurita silently turned and stepped inside. Makoto blew out his breath  
resignedly. "Yes, Ura, we're in for the night," he said, rubbing his face  
with one hand as he closed the door.  
  
After absent-mindedly dropping her own oilskin into a heap on the floor,  
Ifurita sat down on the little settee that faced toward their balcony. She  
stared out over the railing, watching the rain fall without even bothering  
to remove the scarf she wore over her hair. Makoto gingerly took a seat  
next to her.  
  
He began uncertainly, breaking the uneasy silence. "Ifurita, I--"  
  
"Frita okay, Makoto? Frita okay?"  
  
Makoto chuckled wistfully as the pudgy cat that had interrupted him jumped  
up in his lap. He stroked her luxurious orange mane with one hand, placing  
his other arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'm not sure, Ura," he said,  
coaxing his wife toward him.  
  
Ifurita's eyes met his. Her lips quivering, she spoke tremulously in a  
squeaky voice Makoto barely recognized.  
  
"Makoto, h-how am I--" was all she managed before she collapsed in his arms.  
  
Ura jumped clear just before being sandwiched between them, but Makoto  
hardly noticed. Ifurita's whole body rocked while she sobbed hysterically.  
  
All Makoto could do was sit there dumbfounded, holding her to him. Not once  
in all the years they had been together had he seen her reduced to this.  
While tears rolled down her cheeks like rivers, Makoto's mind was awash with  
his own emotions. Loss and sorrow at losing his friends loomed large, and  
he despaired at the sense of helplessness he felt. His seeming inability to  
comfort his wife nagging at him, Makoto could not bring himself to ask her  
the most disturbing question.  
  
Did Ifurita actually blame herself for what happened?  
  
"Makoto," she said at length in between sobs, "how am I going to tell Ai?"  
  
A simple question, Makoto thought, yet it was one lacking a simple answer.  
Answers seemed more and more elusive, in fact, thinking about everything  
wearied him.  
  
Makoto nodded off dejectedly, hoping tomorrow he would think of something.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	6. Rough Justice Ch 06

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
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---  
Six  
---  
  
"Ma'am, are you sure?"  
  
"Yes, Lieutenant, I am quite sure."  
  
The combat engineer sighed resignedly. "This way, then."  
  
Ifurita looked over her shoulder at Makoto, nodding for him to follow.  
Together they walked behind the soldier as he guided them through the  
corridors. Despite the cool autumn air, Makoto sweat profusely from the  
heavy canvas coveralls each of them wore. They were taking all the  
necessary precautions to prevent exposure to any remaining poison gas that  
may have settled into these tunnels deep beneath the amphitheater. Each of  
them also wore gas masks and cloth hoods over their faces. Makoto reasoned  
Ifurita wore the same gear not for her own protection, but to prevent  
carrying any of the poisonous substances back to the surface.  
  
"Royal Engineers Third Battalion has been down here all night, trying to  
contain the material spilled from the smudge pots," the lieutenant  
explained, nearly shouting to be heard behind his mask. "We're not yet sure  
just what's in the stuff or how it came to be placed here. But we do know  
from the eyewitness reports of the Great Priestesses it was the materials'  
combustion that produced the poison gas."  
  
Makoto half-listened to the combat engineer's monologue, picking up snippets  
such as "further chemical analysis required" and "evidence collection  
continuing." Concern for his wife was far more important to him at the  
moment. This morning, when he awoke on the settee in their apartment, he  
noticed his wife looking at him the same way as before he had fallen asleep.  
She had said little all morning, only picking at her food when their  
servants had served breakfast.  
  
But that had changed when they had arrived at what was now being considered  
a crime scene. Ifurita was all business, gathering information from  
whatever source she could. He was glad they had not crossed paths with  
al-Farsi yet, but thought glumly their meeting was inevitable.  
  
Their tour of the catacombs where the smudge pots had been discovered over,  
Makoto blinked repeatedly as the midmorning sun hurt his eyes. After  
walking through the coarse spray from an overhead sprinkler to ensure none  
of the poison remained, they entered one of dozens of tents set up where the  
amphitheater's stage had been. Here they began shucking their protective  
gear.  
  
"Forgive me, m'lord and lady," the lieutenant said, sitting cross-legged on  
the floor while pulling at his galoshes. "Our field commander wanted me to  
bring you to him after your tour," he droned on loudly, obviously forgetting  
the fact his breather no longer muffled his voice.  
  
Makoto and Ifurita exchanged confused looks. Leonid, after all, had hailed  
them as they passed during their tour of the catacombs. Why did they need  
to see him now?  
  
"That will not be necessary, Lieutenant Jizar," someone said, as if to  
answer their question.  
  
Ifurita and Makoto both looked up beyond where the lieutenant sat. A  
bespectacled man dressed in a gray laborer's tunic and trousers stood there,  
cradling a hard hat in the crook of one arm. He was about the same build  
and age as Makoto, although over the years had taken to growing his beard  
out.  
  
"I sincerely wish we could have met again under better circumstances, my  
friends."  
  
Makoto felt a sense of relief at the sight of the man. If Dyvernius Traugot  
was here, then Rune and Kaured must be bringing their best and brightest in  
from the field to help address this crisis. Traugot, who Makoto had come to  
know and respect from their joint scientific endeavors, was recognized as  
one of the best analytical minds in all Roshtaria. In fact, a few years ago  
Traugot had bestowed upon him the title Dean of the Royal Academy. He had  
been Schtalubaugh's most respected understudy, and had been the logical  
choice to succeed Schtalubaugh after his death. Makoto reasoned Traugot had  
left his official robes in his quarters, for now his friend looked more like  
a stonemason than Roshtaria's top scholar.  
  
"Vernie," Makoto said, shaking Traugot's hand warmly. "Did you just get  
back from the mines?"  
  
"Just this morning, Mack," Traugot replied. "Queen Rune herself dispatched  
a team to find me in the tunnels under Geynos to help determine what  
happened here." He sighed, suggesting to Makoto there was much they did not  
yet know.  
  
"We have little to go on so far, but let me tell you what we do know,"  
Traugot said resignedly as they left the equipment room. He picked up a  
pair of hard hats and shook them to unfurl the canvas tails that would  
protect the back of their necks from the sun. He handed one to both Makoto  
and Ifurita before placing his own back atop his head.  
  
"Have you located the three combustion sources?" Makoto inquired.  
  
"Yes, we were able to locate them with Sister Kiku's help." Makoto and  
Ifurita listened carefully as Traugot pointed about the amphitheater,  
describing the scenes the smudge pots had been placed. "That's where the  
first one went off," Traugot said. "We believe it detonated prematurely."  
  
Makoto nodded, making a mental note to inquire how Traugot had arrived at  
that conclusion. "What about the chemicals used?" he asked, changing the  
subject.  
  
Traugot blew out his cheeks as he exhaled. "We are still trying to contain  
them. Some pretty noxious stuff remains down there."  
  
Makoto chuckled. "Yeah. I figured those canvas suits weren't your idea of  
good fashion sense."  
  
"Well, that was just a precaution. The engineers tell me they will have the  
tunnels sufficiently ventilated by nightfall to render those unnecessary,"  
Traugot replied. "Did you see the scorch marks?"  
  
"Yeah," Makoto replied. "I saw one place where some of the piping above the  
smudge pot had been removed."  
  
"I had them collected as percussive damaged specimens for examination. Did  
you see the pipe joints themselves?"  
  
"No, the engineers had just finished cutting them down and inventorying them  
when Ifurita and I walked by."  
  
"Ah. They're working fast. The lorries carrying the plasma torches arrived  
only a few hours ago." Traugot motioned to the two of them with one hand.  
"Let me show you something interesting."  
  
He ushered Ifurita and Makoto to a field tent set up near the stage of the  
amphitheater. The people working inside wore a variety of uniforms...  
engineers, scientists, Palace guard, and the ubiquitous Mountaineers. Bent  
over their work, none noticed as they entered.  
  
The three of them knelt near a pallet while Traugot pulled back a cloth.  
Underneath were several pipe sections Makoto recognized from the tunnels.  
  
"Take a look here, Mack," he said, pointing at the pipe joints. "Notice  
anything?"  
  
Makoto whistled as he examined the joints. "These pipes look like they've  
melted."  
  
"Right. But notice the percussive damage as well."  
  
"Vern, this would have had to get real hot really fast in order to introduce  
this much plastic deformation."  
  
"That was the conclusion I had come to. But how do you suppose that could  
have happened? We haven't found any trace of any rapid-discharge  
incendiaries yet."  
  
Makoto's face fell as a disturbing thought occurred to him. Traugot nodded  
knowingly, suggesting Makoto had come to the conclusion he had been leading  
him to.  
  
"By the Gods, Vern. Initrotolulene?"  
  
Ifurita, who had been listening intently to their exchange, looked  
quizzically at the two of them. "That is a very high-yield explosive, being  
characteristic in its consuming itself almost entirely during detonation as  
I recall," she said. Her brow knit as she tugged at her chin thoughtfully.  
"But Royal Ordinance uses other explosives that are easier to handle. And  
so do the Engineering Corps."  
  
"Vern, you don't think--"  
  
"Geynosite has to be blasted out of the ground, right?"  
  
Makoto's eyes went wide. "You're not suggesting what I think you're  
suggesting, are you?!?!" he asked incredulously.  
  
He noticed one of the technicians look up from her work, her attention  
obviously drawn to his raised voice. Upon recognizing Ifurita, she snapped  
to attention, eyes wide. "M-M'lady Ifurita, Champion of the Realm!" she  
said loudly, thumping her chest in salute. Everyone else in the room  
scrambled to their feet, soldiers and civilians alike.  
  
Makoto couldn't help but notice how the simple act of recognition affected  
Ifurita. Flabbergasted, she blinked momentarily as she stood mute among  
them. But her determined look returned quickly. "As you were, servants of  
the Realm," she said, thumping her own chest in response.  
  
Everyone in the tent resumed their work. "Er... Ifurita," Makoto began  
nervously.  
  
"Yes, Makoto?"  
  
"I thought you requested that during peacetime soldiers didn't address you  
formally."  
  
"Well, yes, I had, but--"  
  
"--but we are at war now, Champion."  
  
Makoto felt his shoulders droop. "I would hate to think it necessary to  
remind the Queen's own Affairs Minister a declaration of war requires  
concurrence of the Council," Ifurita spat back over her shoulder.  
  
"And I would hate to think it necessary to remind the Queen's Champion a  
temporary police action does not," Minister al-Farsi lectured from the  
corner of the tent he had emerged from. "I have exercised my prerogative,  
nay, my responsibility to conduct this investigation as if gathering  
intelligence against an enemy of the state. I believe it prudent to  
henceforth conduct this operation as a military exercise rather than a  
civilian investigation."  
  
Makoto watched as Ifurita's face screwed up with scorn and contempt. "Since  
the Minister has already seen fit to declare war on the Queen's behalf,  
surely he intends to inform her exactly whom she has declared war upon," she  
said, her voice oozing with invective. "Her Majesty will no doubt be  
pleased to know that you've finished your investigation and identified the  
culprits with such haste and efficiency."  
  
Every vein in the Minister's face was clearly visible beneath his beet red  
skin. "Now see here, Champion--"  
  
"M'lady Ifurita, Champion of the Realm!" a new voice shouted, interrupting  
al-Farsi.  
  
Ifurita gasped, looking past Makoto to where the voice had come. Makoto  
could see her alarm as she recognized Major Ketter Saulit before her, fist  
over his heart. He remembered now. The blonde man was Commander Rilikan's  
aide-de-camp, second in command of the Royal Army's Cerulean Expeditionary  
Force.  
  
But how had he gotten here so quickly?, Makoto thought. Cerulea was many  
days' march to the west!  
  
"Major Saulit," Ifurita addressed him curtly. She frowned, due Makoto  
believed at the disturbing implications of Saulit's presence rather than  
from having her exchange with al-Farsi interrupted.  
  
Saulit panted, standing at attention as best as his tired legs would permit.  
"M'lady, the Royal Cerulean Expeditionary Force has returned."  
  
"At ease, soldier," Ifurita said, to which Saulit complied gratefully. "You  
may continue with your report."  
  
"Ma'am, Acting Commander Saulit of Her Majesty's Fifteenth Infantry  
reporting--"  
  
"'Acting Commander?', Ifurita interrupted. "But what of Commander Rilikan?"  
  
Saulit paused momentarily. Makoto knew firsthand that soldiers were advised  
to choose one's words carefully while delivering bad news to the Queen's  
Champion. A sense of dread overwhelmed him as he noted the man's statement;  
he believed none of them would like Saulit's answer.  
  
"Champion, it is my sad duty to inform you Commander Rilikan is missing," he  
began, pausing as if having difficulty accepting the terrible fact, "and is  
presumed dead."  
  
Ifurita's face fell. An uneasy silence fell over them all, save for  
Saulit's panting. Before anyone could say anything else, Ifurita turned and  
left the tent.  
  
Makoto clasped Saulit and Traugot each on the shoulder, motioning them to  
follow her. He had a fairly good idea of what must be going though her mind  
right now and he didn't like it one bit. He was also sure that whatever  
Saulit had to say, Ifurita felt it necessary to maintain secrecy. As the  
three of them almost ran to keep pace with Ifurita, Makoto looked back to  
see al-Farsi following a few steps behind.  
  
He watched Ifurita enter what appeared to be the command tent, and then saw  
a pair of vermilion clad reserve corps officers make a hasty exit. Makoto  
reached for the tent flap, holding it aside as the group filed in one by  
one. He didn't appreciate the smug look on al-Farsi's face, but said  
nothing as he closed the flap behind himself.  
  
"Continue, Commander," Ifurita addressed Saulit, not bothering to turn  
around to face them.  
  
"He had left camp with Laria, the Cerulean High Shamaness," he said  
uneasily, "They were planning to go out mushrooming. But neither the troops  
nor I saw him again before we broke camp to begin our scheduled march back  
to Floristica. As we made our way toward the Geynosian border, my advanced  
scouts found a site on the banks of the Jilea River where a struggle  
appeared to have taken place."  
  
Saulit flinched as Ifurita crossed the room more quickly than any human  
would have thought possible. "Picking mushrooms?", she barked angrily in  
Saulit's face. Even Makoto felt himself wince. "By the Seven Hells, man,  
do you really expect me to believe my commander was out picking mushrooms in  
the middle of the night accompanied by the leader of a nation whose  
intentions and motives are unknown to us?"  
  
Visibly flustered, Makoto felt for the younger man as he struggled to  
compose his reply. "Ma'am, I can merely report what my superior officer  
told me."  
  
Ifurita looked to Makoto as though she was about to say something else, but  
instead motioned for Saulit to go on. "Rilikan's rapier was found along  
with a few shreds of his uniform. I then ordered the soldiers to break  
ranks and search the area. We found pieces of what we believe to be Laria's  
cloak, near where a couple sacks filled with morels appeared to have been  
dropped hastily. T-there had obviously b-been a struggle, ma-ma'am."  
  
Makoto noticed that Ifurita had taken to staring at the floor. That seemed  
to rattle Saulit all the more. While her role as Queen's Champion over the  
years had been more a ceremonial than a tactical one, he had been at her  
side during times trying for their kingdom, their friends, and each other.  
Never had he seen her give one of her subordinates the third degree like  
this.  
  
"Immediately I reformed the columns and began marching the expedition back  
to Roshtaria as originally planned," Saulit was saying, doing his best to  
stay focused. "A few hours later we were met by Commander Mazood of Ninth  
Transport, who relayed his orders to deliver Commander Ril--"  
  
Saulit coughed nervously, wilting under Ifurita's penetrating gaze.  
  
"I m-mean, er... well, t-that is, Fifteenth Infantry's Acting Commander to  
Floristica with all due haste. I left Lieutenant Fawaz in charge and  
returned with Mazood and Baker Company."  
  
Ifurita was silent for a moment. Makoto watched as her face went blank, the  
way it always did when she was consulting her Voices.  
  
"Has Laria resurfaced?"  
  
"None of us have seen her, and the Ceruleans have gone to ground since  
Rilikan's disappearance. We usually see several of them every day, ma'am.  
We had developed what we thought were good relations with the Cerulean  
Tribesmen, in fact, we had even worked out a barter system with them. None  
of them have been seen since the Commander disappeared, even though we  
thought for sure they would be seeing us off."  
  
Makoto swallowed hard, dreading what he knew Ifurita was about to say.  
  
"Commander, render me your assessment of recent events."  
  
Translation, Makoto thought -- tell me you believe Laria betrayed Rilikan.  
  
Saulit looked at the floor for a moment before looking back up at his  
superior. "In all honesty, Ma'am, I don't know what to make of all that has  
happened. Right up until the Commander disappeared, he would have trusted  
Laria with his own life. Lieutenant Fawaz, Ensign Geord, myself... we all  
felt the same way. She visited the camp and invited us several times to  
dine with her in her tunnel chambers."  
  
He blew out his breath as he continued. "With all candor, ma'am, we were  
all beginning to like her. We liked her frankness and unassuming nature --  
you always knew where you stood with her."  
  
Hearing the High Shamaness being referred to continually in the past tense  
bothered Makoto. He had no doubt Ifurita didn't like where this was leading  
either.  
  
"Doesn't matter, really. Many in the Realm will say with certainty that the  
Ceruleans have betrayed us," Saulit said, glaring at al-Farsi irrespective  
of his own rank. "But I just don't know what to believe right now."  
  
"Well, I suppose, officially Rilikan would be classified as 'missing in  
action.' But in six weeks--"  
  
"Thank you, Minister," Traugot spat indignantly. "I believe we are all too  
aware of what you are suggesting." No one needed reminding of the  
Roshtarian Army policy that would add Rilikan to the KIA roll after missing  
for that long. The sound of the Minister's voice told Makoto without  
looking al-Farsi stood close, smirking self-righteously.  
  
"M'lady Ifurita, Champion of the Realm!"  
  
"Gods, now who?" Makoto muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. This  
was quickly getting old.  
  
He turned to see Ifurita return Commander Leonid's salute. Previously  
commander of the Mountaineers before Prince Justen's appointment, he was a  
seasoned veteran of many campaigns. His long black hair drawn into a pony  
tail revealed his graying temples. Where Saulit had been obviously unnerved  
during his report, Leonid spoke with detached precision. He embodied in  
every way the character of the Mountain Legion he commanded: efficient,  
effective, and haughty. But despite his patronizing demeanor, Makoto had  
come to admire the man's candor and professionalism.  
  
"Ma'am -- I came as soon as I heard Fifteenth Infantry had arrived." Leonid  
turned, sneering at the other soldier. "Commander."  
  
Ifurita knit her brow. "And I am positive you shall tell me why."  
  
"Indeed, Ma'am. But I'll need the help of *acting* Commander Saulit here."  
  
Now it was Saulit's turn to look confused. "Me?", he asked, pointing to his  
chest.  
  
Al-Farsi sighed disgustedly. "Get on with it, man!"  
  
"Of course, Minister. This way, Doctor, m'lord n' lady... Commander."  
  
Several minutes later, Leonid had assembled them around an exhibit table set  
up in one of the field tents near the entrance of the tunnels beneath the  
amphitheater. Makoto followed a discreet distance behind.  
  
Leonid motioned to a few soldiers standing nearby. They brought forward a  
long narrow object, wrapped entirely in cloth. "My recovery teams found  
this about a half hour ago while clearing rubble from the first blast site.  
We have a pretty good idea of what it is, but we need Commander Saulit to  
confirm our suspicions." With a nod from him, the two soldiers drew back  
the cloth for their inspection.  
  
The battered thing had been snapped in two. But it was still recognizable  
as a very well crafted staff; its ornate carvings suggested its ceremonial  
nature.  
  
All eyes turned to Saulit as he gasped. The color drained from his face.  
Saulit stood bewildered as his mouth opened and closed silently.  
  
"Commander?," Ifurita prompted.  
  
His voice little more than a horrified whisper, Saulit finally spoke. "That  
pike... it belongs to Laria, the Cerulean High Shamaness."  
  
Makoto's head spun as an uneasy hush fell over the tent.  
  
Ifurita was the one to break the pregnant silence. "Minister, come with  
me," she said, nodding to Saulit and Leonid. Dismissed, they turned to  
leave while Traugot followed suit. Then she turned her gaze to Makoto,  
finally noticing where he had been standing silently nearby.  
  
Makoto's mouth hung open as he realized what he was seeing. Before him was  
not the face of the woman with whom he had laughed, loved, and lived these  
many years. Instead it was a face cold, aloof, single-minded.  
  
There he saw the face of the Demon-God.  
  
"We have much to discuss, al-Farsi," Ifurita said. Makoto felt the hair on  
the back of his neck stand on end as her eyes met his.  
  
"If you would excuse us, my lord."  
  
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	7. Rough Justice Ch 07

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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-----  
Seven  
-----  
  
Ai placed the black bonnet on her head, flaring out the veil to fall freely  
over her long hair. She inspected the result in the mirror before her. She  
looked into eyes that were no longer damp and puffy, but were no less  
miserable for that. It had been two days since Ai had managed to stop  
crying.  
  
Nevertheless, she decided to forego the eye makeup, for Ai was unsure just  
how well she would manage today. She had never been to a funeral in  
Roshtaria, much less a state funeral, but she had spent enough time there to  
know what they expected of mourners. Roshtarians behaved in much the same  
way as mourners in her chosen homeland did -- everyone was expected to be  
stoic, calm, dignified. Ai could not help feeling that the Arabs had the  
right idea about funerals. They should be noisy affairs where everyone  
could cry out and give full vent to their pain, keening their grief to high  
heaven. But her wailing had been done in private, first on Ifurita-mama's  
shoulder, then on Hiroshi's. The past four days had gone by with her barely  
being aware of it.  
  
There was a light knock on the open bedroom door. Ai's husband stuck his  
head in, looking worried. "Honey, do you need any help?"  
  
Ai turned to look at him. He was wearing the black robe of mourning that  
Ifurita-mama had brought over two days ago. Somehow it was surreal; he  
looked like a Catholic priest. His long face made him appear older than he  
really was. The regulation Tokyo PD Special Vehicles Unit crewcut only  
served to punctuate that particular image. Ai smiled. "No dear, I'm fine.  
I'm just about done."  
  
Hiroshi nodded. "Okay. I'll get the door when they arrive." He left, and  
Ai stood and walked over to the full-length mirror to give her much more  
elaborate heavy black robe a final inspection. Perversely it bore more  
resemblance to a traditional Japanese bridal kimono, save for the color of  
course. But dressed this way, she hardly looked like a native of her chosen  
home at all. Most people here assumed her to be a "half". Ai was unusually  
tall even in modern Japan, in fact, she could look her husband in the eye  
even in low heels. Her dark chestnut-colored hair was quite wavy, and  
framed a round, pale, youthful face with dark eyes that looked more or less  
Asian save for the prominent folds over her eyelids. Ai had always felt  
that her looks were rather unremarkable, considering her parentage.  
  
Ai went to sit down again, grateful for the opportunity to just sit quietly  
for a little while. It was their baby-sitters they were awaiting, the only  
other people on Earth who knew what had really happened. It had been hell  
keeping this bottled up for four days. She wanted so much to spill her  
heart out to all her friends and to feel the warmth of their support. But  
it was only yesterday that Ai mustered the courage to call her other friends  
and tell them their carefully prepared lies. Her parents died in a car  
accident in Europe. Yes, it was just awful. The bodies were being flown to  
Japan tomorrow. The funeral would be next week, could you attend? No,  
tomorrow I'll just be at home with family. Really, I'll be fine.  
  
But what I'd like to tell you but can't is that my father married a  
beautiful woman from another planet, my mother. And now they are both dead.  
  
The thought that brought an unexpected, sad smile to her lips -- the first  
one in four days -- was that she was blessed with three parents. They had  
been like a tripod of stability for her, guiding her through an improbable  
life that spanned two worlds, maybe even two universes. Now Ifurita-mama  
was her crutch, one she was infinitely grateful for. I must tell her today,  
Ai resolved. It has been too long since I have reminded my godmother how  
much she means to me.  
  
The doorbell rang. Ai walked over to the bedroom door and waited. If it  
was somebody other than their expected baby-sitters, Hiroshi's simple black  
outfit could be passed off as the affectations of an eccentric who had  
married into a crazy gaijin family. But the long, bulky, black robe she  
wore definitely could not.  
  
Upon hearing the familiar voices, Ai walked out into the wide hallway that  
the front door opened onto. Alielle and Ikuko had just finished taking  
their shoes off and were stepping up from the tile surface of the entryway  
to the raised hardwood floor. "Ai-chan!" Alielle called in a strained  
voice. They walked quickly into a desperate embrace; Alielle's head nestled  
tightly against Ai's chest. "It's so awful. I just can't believe it."  
They separated enough for Alielle to look up at her. "Are you really okay,  
going over there so soon?"  
  
Ai smiled down at her Alielle-onesan's pixie face. Even after Ai had grown  
nearly whole head taller than her childhood companion and guardian, she had  
remained Alielle-onesan. Even though Big Sister was nearly forty years old,  
today was the first time Ai could remember feeling like her youth was  
finally leaving her behind. Maybe it was just her red-rimmed eyes, fresh  
from crying over her two dear friends. Or maybe it was that the laugh-lines  
that had begun to mark her face could only be seen like this, from inches  
away. At other times, the two big, sloppy bangs of wavy purple hair seemed  
to frame a face that changed little over the years. "Onesan, I'm sorry. I  
didn't want to tell you over the phone. The fact is, we found out four days  
ago. Ifurita-mama felt it was best not to tell anyone until... well, until  
things had settled down a bit."  
  
In other words, until they had settled on a cover story to tell their other  
Terran friends.  
  
"But how could this happen?" Alielle pleaded.  
  
"Alielle-chan" Ikuko said gently, walking over and putting her hands on her  
lover's shoulders. "Hush now. You'll wake the baby." After getting a nod  
and an apologetic look from the diminutive woman, she gave Ai a hug and a  
kiss on the cheek. She gazed at Ai with a look of calm sympathy. "Ai-chan,  
I'm so sorry."  
  
"Thank you, onesama. And thank you for coming on such short notice. I know  
you were probably supposed to work today." Wearing her stylish navy  
pantsuit, Ai concluded Ikuko had come from the office before picking up  
Alielle.  
  
Ikuko shook her head. "I've got more days off banked than I can count. It  
will do them some good, learning to do without me for half a day." Ai knew  
that was not something that happened often of late. The sharp, dedicated  
woman's work was in great demand at the investment firm she had worked her  
way up in over the past twelve years.  
  
It looked like Alielle had calmed down a bit. "Ai-chan, how was Ifurita?  
Did she look okay?"  
  
"Yes, she did. But I've never seen her look so sad. It's been hard for her  
too." That hardly touched upon what Ai had seen in her godmother the day  
she brought the news, and again when she had returned to tell Ai of the  
funeral arrangements in Roshtaria. Ifurita had cried no less than she had  
that day. But it was the way Ifurita could barely force herself to look  
into the eyes of her own goddaughter that had left Ai stunned.  
  
Ifurita blamed herself for the death of her parents. That was plain. And  
Ai had no idea what she could do about that.  
  
They sat down together in the living room. Alielle took a seat on the couch  
beside Ai, still clinging to her. Ai told them what she knew, which was  
precious little. She had already told Alielle the basics over the phone.  
The fact that her parents had died saving Justen was little more than an  
abstraction to Ai, having met the Prince a mere handful of times. It was  
something that would mean more to Alielle, for she had been very close to  
the Royal Family. At least, she had been until being forced into exile ten  
years ago.  
  
The ambiance of the room suddenly changed, as if one wall had suddenly  
opened into a great void. They all looked towards the opening that led out  
to the hallway. Swirling wisps of silvery mist that seemed to glow with  
their own light rapidly formed and expanded. With just a whisper of a  
breeze, the wormhole opened up and deposited an alien creature onto Ai's  
living room floor. She heard sharp intakes of breath from everyone around  
her.  
  
The creature was a picture of dark beauty. It was draped in a close-fitting  
uniform of shining black and gunmetal gray. The uniform was thin enough on  
arms and legs to show finely toned muscles and thick enough on the torso to  
be more of a semi-rigid armor. The newcomer held rigidly at its side an  
ornate staff whose twin orbs glowed as it resonated with the wormhole. Its  
long, platinum hair was covered in a black veil, framing a mask-like face of  
immobile ivory. The icy blue eyes seemed to hold in them all the cold  
emptiness of the space this creature had just traversed in the wink of an  
eye. Those terrible eyes came to rest upon Ai.  
  
Ai could guess why Alielle had gasped the loudest. The Demon-God's  
expression was cold and menacing. Perhaps this is how Ifurita first  
appeared to her and the others in the Forbidden Tomb many years ago.  
  
Hiroshi was the first to rise. "Okasan, w-we're ready to go," he stammered.  
  
"Good." Ifurita strode over to Ai, who stood before dropping Alielle's  
limp, forgotten hand. "Ai-chan, before we go there is something you should  
know," she said. Her voice was gentle, but in a professional, calculated  
way devoid of warmth. "We have confirmed who killed your parents. It was  
the Phantom Tribe of Cerulea. We have proof."  
  
The statement meant nothing to Ai other than to explain who had earned the  
Demon-God's wrath. The only Tribesman Ai had ever met was Nanami's charming  
husband, the others merely villains of stories told by her elders. "I see."  
  
"We will be hunting them down in due course. It is not something you need  
to concern yourself with right now. Today is for honoring the memory of the  
mother and father who were taken from you." Her eyes shifted as if noticing  
the other occupants of the room for the first time. "Alielle, Ikuko, thank  
you for being here. We will be returning before the end of the day."  
  
Alielle just nodded. She had the look of a cornered rabbit, paralyzed with  
fear. Even in the air-conditioned room, her face was starting to glisten  
with sweat.  
  
"Don't worry about coming back late, Ifurita," Ikuko said. Alielle looked  
infinitely relieved that those steel blue eyes had turned away from her.  
"We can look after Kenji as long as you need."  
  
"I've stocked up on everything," Ai said quickly, getting Ikuko's attention.  
"The diapers are on the top shelf of the bathroom cabinet. Formula is in  
the kitchen pantry, second shelf from the top."  
  
Ikuko smiled. "Right where they always are. Thank you."  
  
Ai suddenly felt silly. Ikuko and Alielle knew where everything was in her  
house at least as well as she did. "He was fed two hours ago and he's been  
sleeping since."  
  
"Thanks for reminding me again."  
  
Ai didn't need Ikuko's friendly deadpan to reminder her she was just  
stalling. She tried to convince herself it was just because she did not  
look forward to wormhole transits. They always made her feel nauseous.  
Steeling herself, she looked into the Demon-God's icy blue eyes. "We're  
ready."  
  
Without a word, Ifurita raised her open hand. Both Ai and Hiroshi placed  
their hands in hers. Ai fought the urge to shut her eyes, for she knew that  
would just make her feel worse. The silvery mist enveloped them, followed  
by the familiar floating sensation. In the blink of an eye, they were on  
another world.  
  
As expected, they materialized in a familiar room. It was the sitting-room  
of the opulent apartment of the Queen's Champion. Bright tile and marble  
lit by the midday sun streaming in through the high windows dazzled her  
eyes. Ai squinted, her eyes settling at last upon the back of the big sofa.  
Two mops of hair, one black and one orange, were already turning to note the  
new arrivals. Makoto smiled and rose to his feet. His cat-armor Ura just  
regarded them with sad, liquid eyes. The venerable cat was unusually  
subdued, as if infected by the mood of her masters. Ai felt great relief at  
seeing her godfather. She released Ifurita's hand and went to embrace him  
gratefully. Her godmother's unexpected stern, formal bearing had unsettled  
her greatly. Until she saw Makoto's warm, familiar smile she had been  
coming close to hysteria. As if sensing her distress, Hiroshi hovered close  
to her as Makoto greeted them.  
  
"I shall inform the Queen of our arrival," Ifurita said before marching out  
of the room. The tension seemed to melt away with her passing.  
  
"Do you feel nervous about the ceremony?" Makoto asked softly.  
  
Ai shook her head. "No, Makoto-papa, I'll be fine." It was their second  
time speaking since the tragedy. He had accompanied his wife on her second  
trip to Earth, when she had brought the mourning clothes and news of the  
funeral. They had had their time to cry together, but there was something  
new troubling her now.  
  
"Makoto, is Ifurita okay?"  
  
He hesitated, nervously tugging at his mustache before answering. "She's  
got a lot on her mind right now, Ai-chan. This has been a big shock for  
everyone, but unfortunately it has been politics as usual." Ai was  
astonished at the bitterness she heard in her godfather's voice. "Al-Farsi  
and his bunch of thugs want to throw away years of work and move against the  
Tribe. Rune is letting herself be bullied and Ifurita is more or less  
caught in the middle." He smiled, but to her his smile appeared forced. "I  
know how it must look, but that's just the way she gets when she's focused.  
Don't worry, she'll be fine."  
  
Ai could see that Makoto was worried about her too, though she was reluctant  
to press the issue. He was the only one who truly saw into Ifurita's heart;  
Ai trusted him to look after her. They spoke for a while longer. Ai passed  
on Alielle's love and sympathy, as she had been asked to. It was a  
melancholy duty; Alielle should have been here herself. But somebody under  
a death sentence ought not to return to Roshtaria glibly.  
  
It was not long before Ifurita returned to escort them to the ceremony. Ai  
had been to state ceremonies in the Great Hall before, but today its vast,  
quiet emptiness just seemed to mirror her own feelings. As the grieving  
family, she and Hiroshi were the first to be conducted into the hall.  
Accompanying them were the Queen's Champion and the Dean of the Royal  
Academy, to whom the duty of conducting the ceremony fell. He was a short  
man with a gentle face and bushy black beard who had warmed her heart  
instantly with a sincere smile of sympathy. Ai only knew him as Doctor  
Traugot, a good friend of Makoto-papa.  
  
Traugot took his place at the pulpit. Ai and Hiroshi sat quietly for a  
couple of minutes; the only sound heard was the occasional light peal of a  
ceremonial bell rung by the robed attendants that flanked the two big  
lacquer urns that held her parents' bones. The members of the Royal Family  
were first to arrive. One by one, they knelt before the urns then walked  
over to kneel before Ai to offer their sympathies. King Kaured looked  
properly stoic and solemn. Queen Rune appeared very distressed and tired.  
Ai felt for her as only a mother could. Just days ago the Queen's eldest  
child had nearly been killed, after all. Fatora knelt unsteadily before Ai  
and slurred the requisite words. Seeing her red nose and glassy eyes, Ai  
wondered if the Princess Regent was drunk. She had heard the Queen's sister  
had taken to drink since she had found out about Ikuko ten years ago. That  
had prompted her to declare the death sentence on the unfaithful concubine,  
after having barely failed to impose punishment with her bare hands. Ai  
noticed Fatora's new consort was nowhere to be seen. She surmised Fatora's  
new hedonistic interest was not as endearing to the rest of the Royal Family  
as Alielle had been.  
  
Andria came next. The little girl was all poise and grace; her words were  
formal but sincere. She was her mother's daughter in every way, projecting  
dignity and warmth that magically lifted just a bit of the burden from Ai's  
shoulders. Rune must be very proud, Ai could not help thinking.  
  
Prince Justen broke all protocol by going down on both knees and bowing to  
the ground.  
  
"I share your grief, my lady, as does our whole Kingdom." He raised his  
head back up just enough to look up into her eyes. "I owe my life to your  
mother and father. I swear I will find their killers, whatever the cost."  
He bowed again, barely stifling a cough. Ai had been told he was still  
recovering from the poison gas he had inhaled. He bore himself well, but  
somehow his words left Ai cold. She found herself thinking of Ifurita, now  
standing like an ivory statue next to where the King and Queen had taken  
their seats. Ai shivered, prompting Hiroshi to gently take her hand in his  
own.  
  
The three Great Priestesses came next. Qawool looked devastated, having  
lost her beloved mentor and friend. Her two younger companions hovered at  
either side, looking as if they feared the senior priestess might fall over  
at any moment. The blue-haired Priestess of Water also broke protocol,  
taking Ai's free hand and holding it as their eyes said what no words could.  
Qawool's tears flowed freely; Ai worked her hand free from Hiroshi's to wipe  
away her own. After a long moment, Elena and Kiku gently coaxed their Elder  
Sister to release Ai's hand and take their seats.  
  
There were only a few among the precession that followed whom Ai knew by  
sight, Afura Mann and Shayla-Shayla among them. The rest she figured to be  
members of the Council, the Queen's Ministers and prominent academics. Near  
the last were Nanami and Shevlin. As they knelt before the urns, Ai heard  
mutterings from behind her. "Can't believe they had the nerve--" Sister  
Elena whispered rather loudly before somebody -- probably Sister Kiku --  
shushed her. If either Nanami or Shevlin were aware of the anger their  
presence had stirred, they gave no sign. They both greeted Ai with warm  
words of sympathy and sad, encouraging smiles. Ai felt moved to break  
protocol, and very softly she thanked them for coming. It could not have  
been easy for them, especially for Shevlin.  
  
When the hundred or so who had the privilege of approaching the front had  
done so, Ai heard the thousands of others being allowed to file into the  
back benches en masse. After all were all seated, Traugot began the  
service, speaking in a booming voice that belied his small stature.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, when dear friends depart our midst, as must we all  
one day, it is our custom to reflect upon what they have left behind for the  
living. Today, it is my honor to speak for Miz Mishtal and Masamichi  
Fujisawa. My job could not be simpler. In the span of a minute, I can say  
more for each of them than could be said in many hours for any man or woman,  
nay for any nation or people, in El Hazard. They were both instrumental in  
saving our world from utter ruin not once, but twice. Were it not for their  
efforts and their courage, many of you here would never have been born.  
Today I could leave you with nothing more than this plain, simple fact and  
walk away, confident that I had honored our departed friends as they  
deserved."  
  
Traugot's features softened, his lips parting slightly into just a hint of a  
smile. "But in fact, my job would be far from complete. Long after they  
played their parts in saving our world, both Miz and Masamichi continued to  
touch many lives in many ways. Today I can do little more than give you a  
hint of what they have left behind for us."  
  
In fact, Traugot gave more than a hint. He spoke of many things Ai had not  
even known about. The many outstanding priestesses who may have never been  
admitted to the seminary were not for Miz' ability to recognize their unique  
talent. The numbers of young artisans who had thrived in the education  
system Masamichi had personally reformed. He also spoke of more personal  
things, such as their formal adoption of Ifurita into their family as Ai's  
godmother, making their family not only a meeting of worlds but a meeting of  
the ages. And, of course, the unflagging support they had both given their  
daughter and son-in-law when agonizing over which world to raise their  
family on. He spoke of seemingly trivial things, like the hand-sewn teddy  
bear Miz had made as a present for the Princess Andria, one that was still  
her most precious possession.  
  
Traugot only mentioned in passing the stormy courtship of Ai and Hiroshi, no  
doubt out of politeness. Ai would not have minded having the story told.  
She remembered with fondness how Hiroshi was able to win over her father's  
favor with his charm and patience. Her father in turn had been able to win  
over her mother, who was nervous about Ai settling on Earth, and her  
godmother, whose eyes had often promised death to those men who looked at Ai  
the wrong way.  
  
Finally Traugot spoke of their last act of heroism, where they gave their  
lives to save the Crown Prince. Ai learned details that she had never heard  
before. She was puzzled and concerned at the same time -- why had Ifurita  
never mentioned she had spoken to her father in the moments before he died?  
  
When he had finished, Traugot held out his hand as if in invitation. "Now,  
it is time for us to bid Miz Mishtal and Masamichi Fujisawa farewell. Let  
us keep them in our hearts, now and always."  
  
The crowd took to its feet, knowing this was the signal for the ceremony  
that concluded every Roshtarian funeral. Ifurita and Traugot once again  
escorted Ai and Hiroshi, leading them out of the silent hall. The Royal  
Family and other dignitaries would follow behind, followed by the throngs  
now standing patiently. As was the custom, nobody would speak a word,  
except if required by duty or necessity, until each reached their home or  
next destination. The throngs sojourned in silence, respecting their  
departed friends' final journey.  
  
Following the custom, Ifurita said not a word until she had delivered Ai and  
Hiroshi back to their home. Ai could not help but smile at the scene that  
greeted them. Alielle and Ikuko had spread the quilt out onto the living  
room carpet, where they were playing with little Kenji. His antics seemed  
to have got them both into somewhat higher spirits. Alielle got the  
infant's attention and pointed. "Look, mama and papa are back! And  
Ifurita-obaasan too!" She scampered over and gave Ai a quick hug. "Was it  
nice?"  
  
"Yes, Traugot gave a lovely service." Before she could forget, or her  
godmother could slip away, Ai rested a hand on Ifurita's arm. "Won't you  
stay awhile, Mama?"  
  
"Of course, child." Ifurita gated her Staff Key into a wormhole, making it  
disappear with a soft flash of light and a pop of displaced air. The trick  
made little Kenji squeal with delight. He reached for Ifurita and cried out  
something that probably sounded less like "baasan" than his mother imagined.  
Ifurita's stoic mask melted and she smiled, as if all her pain had  
disappeared into the wormhole with her staff.  
  
As dependable as ever, Ikuko picked the baby off the mat and stood. "Sounds  
like he wants to see Nana. Don't you, dear?" Ifurita took the baby from  
Ikuko and rubbed noses with him. "Hello, munchkin."  
  
"You really shouldn't do that gating stuff in front of Kenji," Alielle  
scolded lightly. "We agreed we wouldn't tell him about you and El Hazard  
until he's old enough."  
  
Ifurita held the baby close to her and rocked him gently. "He is not yet  
old enough to form long-lasting declarative memories," she said. A shadow  
suddenly passed across her face. "I am the only grandparent he will have  
any memory of."  
  
Ikuko broke the silence by offering to make tea while Ai and Hiroshi  
changed. Ai was grateful for her intervention, but excused herself with a  
feeling of regret. For just a moment she had seen some life in her  
godmother's eyes, but the shadow had taken it.  
  
As always, Alielle was eager for news of Roshtaria. Ikuko dropped hints  
that she should not be asking so many questions right now, but in fact Ai  
did not mind at all. Telling Alielle about everyone who had showed up  
helped her sort out her own impressions, some of which she chose not to  
articulate. Under the overwhelming weight of shock and grief she had felt  
from her friends, the very air they had breathed was thick with tension.  
Battle lines were being drawn even while they prayed. Just beneath the  
anxiety over the looming war was an undercurrent of simmering rage, a  
collective yearning for vengeance felt by all Roshtarians. Ai was glad that  
her family was here in peaceful Japan, here on Earth.  
  
Soon Ifurita had to beg leave to return to her duties. She rose and gated  
her staff back into her hand. "Tomorrow, I shall be bringing their remains  
back with me, Ai-chan," she said gently.  
  
"Thank you, Mama. Did I remember to tell you when the funeral is?" It  
seemed such an odd question to ask, having just come from the service in  
Roshtaria. But of course there had to be one here as well. Their friends  
on Earth deserved closure too.  
  
"Yes, dear, you did. I will be bringing Makoto and Nanami, of course. But  
after that I may not be able to visit as often as I would like. I will be  
very busy with the war effort, I hope you understand."  
  
"Of course," Ai said, also rising. She took Ifurita's hand and gave her a  
kiss. With some trepidation, she said, "Please, Mama, watch over our  
friends."  
  
Ifurita smiled and stroked her cheek with a gloved hand. "Fear not, I shall  
not fail again." She put a finger to Ai's lips before she could protest the  
misunderstanding. "They took your mother and father from us, but they have  
had their day. I will end this, once and for all. Wait and see." She  
stepped back, and was soon enveloped in a little whirlpool of gently glowing  
mist. A moment later she was gone.  
  
"I don't like her new uniform," Alielle said by way of breaking the silence.  
"I keep telling her black and gray aren't her colors, she just won't  
listen."  
  
Ai gave her an indulgent smile. "I guess very old habits die hard."  
  
"It must be very hard for her," Hiroshi said, "being back in uniform at a  
time like this. It seems so unfair. I wish she didn't have to do this."  
  
"I pray she does not have to wear it for long," Ikuko said. Everybody  
understood that the conversation really had nothing to do with uniforms.  
  
Soon Alielle and Ikuko also went home. After Kenji was fed and sleeping, Ai  
and Hiroshi decided to turn in early. It had been a very long day. "Are  
you still worried about Ifurita-mama?" Hiroshi asked as he was buttoning up  
his pajamas.  
  
Ai slipped into her own pajama top. "Does it show that much?"  
  
"To me, anyway. I saw the way you were looking at her today."  
  
Ai's heart sank. "I hardly said a word to her, didn't I? And there was so  
much I was supposed to say, too. God, she probably thinks I'm blaming her  
for what happened."  
  
"No, honey, I'm sure she doesn't think that," Hiroshi said in his firm but  
quiet way. "But I'm pretty sure she blames herself."  
  
Ai was surprised to hear this. "You could see it too?"  
  
He nodded. "It was obvious -- didn't you see the nods she and Justen  
exchanged during the recessional? They're planning to retaliate, I'd bet."  
  
She shook her head. Smiling wanly in spite of herself, Ai mused how little  
got by the ever-vigilant Officer Ishizu.  
  
"Ifurita-mama thinks she needs to redeem herself," Hiroshi continued,  
"that's why she's so focused on this new mission of hers. I see it everyday  
in the SV." Hiroshi paused, resuming after sitting down on the bed beside  
her. "Seems like a lot of people who show up in the SV feel like they need  
to prove their worthiness, if only to themselves. It won't be over for her  
until she's had her satisfaction from whomever she thinks killed Mom and  
Dad."  
  
Ai thought about that. Slowly, she nodded. "So there's nothing we can do."  
  
Hiroshi sighed and pulled her close. "At least you know there's little that  
can hurt her, even if she does get careless. That's some comfort, isn't  
it?"  
  
Cold comfort at best, Ai said to herself.  
  
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	8. Rough Justice Ch 08

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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-----  
Eight  
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"Breathe in deep and hold it for me, young Majesty."  
  
Justen drew in a great gulp of air, but only managed to keep it in for a  
moment. Blowing out his breath explosively, he hacked roughly as the Royal  
Family surgeon slapped him on the back.  
  
"Not bad at all, your Highness," the doctor said, offering him a cup of  
water. He gulped the water down greedily before drawing his forearm across  
his face.  
  
"How long am I going to go on coughing like this, Doctor Serol?" he managed,  
pausing mid-sentence to stifle a burp brought on from drinking too fast.  
  
"Actually, young Majesty, your recovery is progressing much more swiftly  
than I had expected," Serol replied, listening carefully with his  
stethoscope as he placed it several more times on Justen's bare back.  
  
Justen flinched slightly each time the cold metal touched his skin. "I  
recommend you remain on light duty for another week," Serol said, answering  
his question. "Then come see me again. If your recovery progresses at the  
same rate you have already, I see no reason to prevent you from resuming to  
your normal duties with the Mountaineers."  
  
He sighed with relief, wanting to get back to something resembling a normal  
life. With all the formal state functions of late, Justen pined for his  
return to the field. There he was just one of the men rather than someone  
to be fussed after and--  
  
"JUS-TEN!"  
  
His face fell as Queen Rune stormed into Serol's examination room. Ever  
since the gas attacks, Justen's mother had fawned relentlessly over him and  
his sister both. Every time he ventured out of the palace he heard the same  
questions -- where are you going, who is going with you, when will you be  
back -- over and over and over. Now what was her problem, anyway? Doctor  
Serol's office was on the Palace grounds, after all, although a quick look  
around confirmed the doctor had discreetly taken his leave.  
  
Justen groaned as Rune held her arm out in front of him, answering his  
unspoken question. In her hand she held a simply dreadful looking creature  
that resembled a normal house cat save for its puce fur, powder-blue mane  
and big curly antennae sprouting from its forehead. "You forgot something,"  
she said, shaking the thing slightly by the scruff of its neck.  
  
Since being presented to him on his tenth birthday, Justen had gone to great  
lengths to avoid his assigned cat-armor. Andria had declared it the cutest  
thing in all Roshtaria. Cute, Justen thought contemptuously, was an  
understatement. The thing's bright fur could be seen a mile away by  
starlight. Neither cub nor kitten could melt one's heart like the cat's  
cross-eyed stare. Completing this adorable picture were its ball-tipped  
antennae, perpetually bobbling to and fro.  
  
Justen would rather appear naked in public than be seen with this loathsome  
creature. Could a colorblind circus clown possibly manage to stitch a  
sillier-looking toy for his five-year-old daughter?  
  
"Forgot me, forgot me!" it chirped merrily, flashing a silly grin.  
  
Justen glared at the godforsaken thing, recalling its peculiar knack for  
rubbing him the wrong way. "Mother, I was planning to come back to get  
Rufus before I went into town today."  
  
Rune responded with that look children across all time and space had come to  
dread -- Mom wasn't buying it. "If Rufus had been with you, as he should  
have been, then he could have protected you at the amphitheater."  
  
Justen suppressed a shudder of anger. They had been through this already.  
He knew she did not blame him for what happened to Lord and Lady Fujisawa,  
but of late the mere mention of the incident set him on edge.  
  
"Mother, I--"  
  
"Justen, I do not want to see you again without Rufus close by on either  
side of the Palace walls," Rune said, her tone softening. "Do you realize  
just how much your father and I worry about you?"  
  
He rolled his eyes; she was playing the guilt card now. Knowing he had been  
trumped, he decided to hand this trick over. "All right, Mother. I'll keep  
him around."  
  
She smiled serenely at Justen, pleased that he had seen the wisdom of her  
position. "Your father and I love you, boy," Rune said, leaning over to  
kiss him on the forehead before setting Rufus down on the examination table  
next to him.  
  
Great. Now she was getting all mushy in front of loudmouth here.  
  
Rune drifted out of the room, nodding to Doctor Serol as she passed through  
his office and out into the hallway. Justen could only watch her leave.  
  
"Love you, boy! Love you--"  
  
Drawing the dagger from his belt with practiced speed, Justen held its point  
dangerously close to the cat's neck. He spoke slowly and icily, muzzling  
Rufus' mouth with the other hand to keep him quiet.  
  
"One more word and I'll skin you for a door mat!"  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Justen took a roundabout route from the infirmary back to his quarters at  
the other side of the Palace. Followed closely by the now mercifully silent  
Rufus, he walked at a leisurely pace. He was not tired, but he knew there  
was nothing waiting at his destination save the convalescence his doctor and  
mother were forcing upon him. Leonid was being kept busy and was never at  
the Palace, so Justen had little idea what the Mountaineers had been up to.  
Of course he had heard of the shocking find at the amphitheater, even the  
servants knew all about that by now. It was just infuriating sitting around  
while *his* Mountaineers were performing its first real field duties since  
its formation last year.  
  
Entering the vast, cavernous hall that led to the chambers of the Royal  
Family, Justen was surprised to find Ifurita and al-Farsi standing together  
having a murmured conversation. Ifurita was the first to turn at Justen's  
entry, but it was al-Farsi who smiled and beckoned him over. Justen  
quickened his pace, happy to just have somebody to speak to besides doctors  
and fawning servants. "Good morning, Minister, Champion."  
  
"A good morning to you," Ifurita said pleasantly. "You look well, Majesty.  
I can see that your recovery is all but complete."  
  
"Yes, thanks. I'm feeling much better."  
  
"That is good to hear, Majesty," al-Farsi said, smiling broadly. "Very good  
indeed. This is very good timing, young Prince. The Champion and I were  
discussing a matter to do with your Mountaineers. I know you are supposed  
to be resting, but I was wondering if you could spare a moment to clear up a  
technical point I believe you have some experience with."  
  
Justen wondered just what data he could possibly have that Ifurita did not.  
"Of course, Minister. I'd be glad to help if I can."  
  
"Splendid. Yesterday I met with Acting Commander Leonid at his encampment.  
He mentioned that the Mountain Legion has been secretly equipped with some  
sort of special masks to protect them from poison gas. I'm a bit puzzled  
though, these 'gas-masks' as the engineers like to call them now are quite  
common, in fact the Champion and her Consort used them when examining the  
catacombs of the Amphitheater. Did I perhaps misunderstand the commander's  
words?"  
  
Justen frowned. "Are you sure it wasn't filter masks he was talking about?"  
  
"Yes, filter masks!" al-Farsi said excitedly. "That is what he said, yes."  
  
"There is no standard equipment of that name I am aware of," Ifurita said.  
  
Justen nodded, happy that this was something he could help with. "Yes, I'm  
familiar with them. It's something one of Traugot's staff came up with.  
It's really just a glass and rubber visor to protect the eyes and a mask  
with several layers of treated silk and other materials. It's not meant to  
protect from poison gas like the one used at the amphitheater. It's  
specifically for operating where smoke-bombs have been detonated."  
  
"I see," Ifurita said, her eyebrows coming up in an expression of  
understanding and approval. "You mean *our* smoke-bombs."  
  
"Yes," Justen said. He should not have been surprised that the Demon-God  
would catch on so quickly. "The army used smoke-bombs against the massed  
formation of Phantom Tribe illusionists in front of the Stairway To The Sky  
during the Bugrom War. They were effective enough, since it incapacitated  
the illusionists. But the smoke affects our soldiers as well, so we were  
not able to follow up on the attack. The gas-masks, even if we had many  
back then, are too cumbersome and hard to breathe in; they can't be used for  
combat. But the filter-masks can."  
  
Ifurita's brow knit. "But do not the Eyes of Geynos fulfill the same  
purpose?"  
  
Justen nodded. "Well, yes and no. The visor glass itself contains  
geynosite, but history tells us the Eyes by themselves are only marginally  
effective against the Tribe's most powerful illusionists. We felt that  
combining use of the Eyes with a smoke attack to disable the enemy's  
spell-casters would be more effective."  
  
"Most ingenious," al-Farsi said. "The enemy becomes incapacitated and we do  
not. Have they been tested?"  
  
"Oh yes," Justen replied eagerly. "I've participated in exercises where I  
walked through thick smoke wearing the mask. I was able to function quite  
normally. In fact, one time for nearly an hour, a few of us..." His voice  
trailed off as he remembered that nobody outside the Mountaineers knew that  
Leonid had let the Crown Prince participate in live-fire exercises.  
  
Ifurita smiled. "As I would expect, his Majesty takes a hands-on approach  
to his Legion's training." Al-Farsi chuckled good-naturedly as Justen  
managed only a nervous laugh.  
  
Busted, he thought sheepishly.  
  
"And you say the entire Mountain Legion is equipped with these?" the  
Minister asked.  
  
"Yes, they went into production a few months ago," relieved at their letting  
his perceived breach of military protocol slide. "We have a large  
stockpile. Smoke-bombs too, of course." It had all been very secret, but  
Justen was surprised that neither the Champion nor the Minister knew about  
it. He had always assumed that Leonid had been making reports to his  
superiors.  
  
"That is very interesting, Majesty," al-Farsi said, now stroking his beard  
thoughtfully. "You see, the matter we had been discussing was the coming  
invasion of Cerulea."  
  
Slack-jawed, Justen could only manage to stare dumbfounded at the Minister.  
"W-what?"  
  
Al-Farsi waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, it's nothing official  
yet. Just informal discussions, following up on our conversation from  
before."  
  
Justen remembered a couple of brief conversations with Ifurita and al-Farsi  
around the time of the Fujisawas' funeral. They had just been talking in  
vague terms about getting firmer control over Cerulea, but he had no idea  
things had progressed so far so quickly.  
  
"Did your training focus upon assaults on fortified positions?" Ifurita  
asked.  
  
"Y-Yes," Justen said, a little too loudly. "We practiced assaults on  
forts." Then the coin dropped. "And on mountain redoubts."  
  
Ifurita raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. The results were encouraging?"  
  
"Very encouraging, yes."  
  
"It seems that you and Leonid have really been thinking ahead. We will have  
to discuss these tactics of yours in greater detail when Leonid arrives."  
  
"Commander Leonid is coming to the Palace today?" Justen said, managing to  
hide his excitement.  
  
For but a brief moment, Ifurita looked like she regretted bringing it up.  
"His immediate responsibilities are for security operations in the city, but  
he said he can spare some time today to discuss our long-term plans."  
  
Al-Farsi cleared his throat. "We shall be dining in my quarters tonight.  
Leonid rises with the dawn so I expect we shall not be staying up very  
late." He smiled warmly. "I will have the servants set an extra place. If  
his Majesty is feeling up to it, perhaps he would join us so that we could  
benefit from his own insights into this matter."  
  
"Of course, Minister. I'd be happy to join you," Justen replied, confident  
in his ability to buy his guards' inattention, and their silence.  
  
They said their good-byes and Justen continued on his way back to his rooms,  
his mind reeling.  
  
The Mountaineers will be spearheading the assault on Cerulea.  
  
My Mountaineers.  
  
"Go eat now?" Rufus asked in a disturbingly chipper voice, shaking Justen's  
focus. Not even bothering to look down, Justen grasped the handle of his  
sheathed dagger menacingly. With a barely audible gasp the cat-armor began  
trailing his master, his bright eyes suddenly downcast. He did not speak  
again.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Attacking them where they are strongest is sheer folly!" Minister  
Carnellian shouted. "For centuries we have tried to root out the Phantom  
Tribe from their darkest hiding places. Our history is full of Captains and  
armies that marched into the depths never to be seen again! Every one of  
them thought they would be the ones to root out the Heretics once and for  
all, and every one of them failed! Now you would have us repeat the same  
folly all over again? It is madness!"  
  
The Minister was arguing with a young man on the opposite side of the long  
mirror pool that divided the vast council chamber in two. The man came up  
on his knees, nearly breaking the protocol of the full Council meeting where  
standing was forbidden. "The one spouting madness today is you, old man!"  
he shouted. "You speak of defensive lines and border patrols? Internal  
security? What good are those against an enemy who can confound our very  
eyes? What good are those against an enemy who can hide among us and strike  
any time they choose? Who knows what else they are planning at this very  
moment?"  
  
In fact Justen agreed with the young tribal leader, but he was only barely  
listening. Over the past few hours they had heard a dozen different  
variations on this same argument as every single Minister and Tribal  
Chieftain had their say. Justen could almost mouth the words as they were  
spoken, so familiar had they become. Last night al-Farsi had warned him to  
expect this, but it really was becoming intolerable.  
  
Justen was beginning to wonder what al-Farsi was waiting for, but finally  
the Minister managed to cut in. "My learned colleague Carnellian reminds us  
that many an army has marched against the Phantom Tribe never to come back.  
Being half as old as the Gods themselves I imagine he was there to cheer on  
more than one of those departing armies." Many of the older Council members  
shared a chuckle at the Carnellian's expense, though the man himself did not  
appear amused.  
  
"It is a pity that this long perspective has not given him the vision to  
realize that we have something none of them had -- knowledge! Unlike our  
ancestors, we have fought this enemy in open battle. From the many we  
captured we gleaned great insight into their tactics and strategy. Our  
friends from the Far World were forced to fight the Phantom Tribe in their  
own homeland. And here our Expeditionary Force in Cerulea has been living  
the Tribesmen there for months now, learning their customs and culture.  
Sadly, the Expedition's commander learned, in the harshest possible way, the  
depths of deception and treachery they showed themselves capable of. But  
with that knowledge, to wit, knowledge our people have never before  
possessed, we are now more heavily armed and better prepared than ever  
before to contend with their threatening presence."  
  
Al-Farsi paused, letting murmurs of approval float up and down the two rows  
of councilors. Justen felt his heart beat faster.  
  
They're listening to him now. Finally.  
  
"We have other weapons we never had before. We have a Queen and Princess  
who have wielded the Eye of God itself. With them stands the very Demon-God  
who--"  
  
Pandemonium broke out as half the council tried shouting at once. Phrases  
such as "Eye of God," "Demon-God", "utter destruction" and "Bugrom War" were  
barely discernible above the din. Justen rolled his eyes. What was  
al-Farsi thinking? He had them in the palm of his hand! The Minister  
should have known any mention of the Weapons of the Ancients would trigger  
another round of bickering. Now they were right back at square one. Justen  
could not bear it any longer.  
  
Silence slowly fell over the chamber, all eyes on Justen. The prince stood  
before the assembly, arms crossed impatiently as the murmuring died away.  
Members of the Royal Family could demand silence from the Council by taking  
their feet before speaking. Everyone looked very astonished that young  
Justen, who had never spoken once since he started attending Council  
meetings as a child, had been the one to exercise this privilege. He felt  
the eyes of his family upon him, seated out of his sight to either side, no  
doubt just as surprised as everyone else.  
  
Justen swallowed hard before beginning. "Al-Farsi is correct," he said, his  
voice wavering a little. "We have weapons that our ancestors never had.  
But we have more than just knowledge of the enemy. We have been putting  
that knowledge to work. For a long time now, the Mountain Legion has been  
preparing to strike at the Heretics who have plagued us for so long. We  
have not weapons handed to us from the Ancients, but rather new weapons we  
have made with our own hands. Weapons that in the hands of brave men can  
help us beat the Phantom Tribe at their own game. These weapons are nothing  
more complicated than smoke bombs and ingenious masks devised by Dean  
Traugot and his engineers that protect our Mountaineers from the smoke." He  
had no idea whether Traugot himself had been instrumental in their design  
but it sounded good. "With them we can enter the Phantom Tribe's caves and  
literally smoke them out. I have been in discussion with the Queen's  
Champion; she agrees the Mountain Legion is more than capable of leading an  
assault on the Cerulean Tribe."  
  
He looked over to where Ifurita was sitting beside the Queen. To his  
relief, the Champion took up her staff and stood. "The Prince speaks  
truly," she said. "The Mountain Legion has been equipped and trained for  
this very eventuality. We estimate that they can be deployed to Cerulea in  
two weeks. With the help of a transport brigade, the Great Priestesses, and  
me, we can launch an immediate assault on the known Phantom Tribe  
strongholds of Cerulea. Against our new weapons and tactics, they shall  
have no defense."  
  
Having calmly reported the required facts, the Champion gracefully sat back  
down on her cushion. Whispered voices threatened to become louder, so  
Justen decided to seize the initiative. "My friends, we cannot hesitate. I  
propose that we immediately declare war on Cerulea and launch an attack with  
the purpose of rooting out those cowardly assassins who dared strike at our  
great city. If we act quickly and decisively, we can put an end to the  
Phantom Tribe menace once and for all."  
  
Al-Farsi spoke even as Justen was taking his seat. "His Majesty makes  
powerful argument, yet I feel I must inject a word of caution." Justen  
frowned, but al-Farsi was not looking at him. "I do not think a formal  
declaration of war is the best course at this point. By law such a  
declaration must be made public immediately. The Ceruleans no doubt have  
many spies among us, ones we have not been able to find. Such a declaration  
would give them a warning, and we would lose the element of surprise. In  
addition, there are many villages and nomadic tribes in Cerulea who are  
friendly to the Alliance and are no friends of the Phantom Tribe. Therefore  
I propose that we plan and launch our attack upon the Tribe in secret.  
Nobody can deny us our right to defend ourselves, and nobody will be able to  
deny that this is in fact a defensive action, necessary to the survival of  
the Alliance itself." There was a round of applause and some cheering, but  
al-Farsi raised his hand for silence. "Further, since Prince Justen has  
fully recovered from the attack of the Phantom Tribe, I propose that he be  
reinstated as commander of the Mountain Legion," he said, his voice building  
in a crescendo barely able to keep the eager crowd at bay. "Let our Prince  
command his Legion as we carry our answer to their vicious and cowardly  
attack!"  
  
This time the cheering was unrestrained. From long practice Justen managed  
to keep his poker face intact. But he knew that no matter how long he  
lived, he would never experience a moment greater than this one.  
  
There were still voices of dissent. It went on for another hour, but by the  
time the evening sun was close to setting, the council was in agreement.  
Finally, it was the Queen's turn to rise. "As we have agreed, I restore  
Justen to his duty as commander of the Mountain Legion. Further, I direct  
the Crown Prince to plan and execute an assault on the Phantom Tribe of  
Cerulea for the purpose of ending the threat they pose to the Alliance.  
Finally, I direct my Champion to solicit the aid of the Great Priestesses,  
and to assist the Crown Prince in his operations in Cerulea, at her  
discretion. This council is dissolved."  
  
Justen was barely aware of the excited murmuring of the Ministers and Tribal  
Elders as the Royal Family, Londs and Ifurita filed out one end of the room  
and everyone else filed out the other. When they were in the family's  
private antechamber, Justen was jolted from his daze by a light punch on the  
arm. Fatora smiled and winked at him. "Congratulations on your stunning  
debut, Justen my boy. I wondered what you and the Ice Queen had been all  
snuggly about lately. That was well played."  
  
Justen couldn't keep himself from grinning. "Thank you, Auntie."  
  
"I just about fell off my cushion when you suddenly stood up," Andria said,  
looking up at him with an expression that suggested she was not amused. "I  
was certain you'd make a complete a- er, fool of yourself," she continued,  
theatrically catching herself at the last minute as if to make her point.  
"It's a good thing Ifurita and the Minister were there to help you."  
  
"Yes," Rune Venus said in a voice that froze Justen's blood. "A very good  
thing indeed."  
  
He turned around and his world collapsed. His mother and father both glared  
at him with expressions he had not seen since the first -- and last -- time  
he had tried to sneak into the servant-girls' bath. In a moment his mother  
was in his face, close enough for Justen to notice the veins throbbing at  
her temples. "Just what in the Seven Hells were you thinking, young man?"  
  
Utterly bewildered, Justen just stammered for a moment. "We... we've been  
planning this for a long time. Last night Leonid and al-Farsi--"  
  
"I am well aware of the company you have been keeping!" Rune snapped. "But  
I assumed you at least had enough sense to speak with your father and me  
before proposing such an outrageous thing!"  
  
"But they said--"  
  
"Don't you dare try and pass the blame to your advisers!" Rune shouted,  
cutting him off. "Don't you dare! It is the duty of the Ministers and the  
Champion to inform and advise the Royal Family! It is *your* duty to judge  
what the best course of action is, not theirs!"  
  
"But..." Justen stammered, desperately needing to know just how he had  
managed to upset his mother so. Any compulsion he felt to save face  
vanishing, he finally asked in a tiny voice "W-what did I d-do wrong?"  
  
"What did you do wrong!?" Rune retorted incredulously. "You just promised  
the entire Council a quick and easy victory, that's what! And what do you  
think is gong to happen if you can't deliver that quick and easy victory?  
Tell me!"  
  
Everyone just stood and watched Justen in silence as the reality of his  
situation settled down on him like a lead weight. When he finally composed  
himself, he gave the only answer he possibly could. "You needn't worry  
yourself, mother. I shall carry out what I have promised."  
  
"So you are sure of that, are you? Well, surely then you must know the  
exact strength and position of every element of the Phantom Tribe in  
Cerulea! Oh, lest I forget, you must also be aware of all their operatives  
between here and there that helped them carry out this attack. Since the  
rest of us do not, would you be so kind to enlighten us?"  
  
Justen shook his head, completely baffled now. "But mother, you agreed--"  
  
"Yes of course I agreed!" Rune spat back, nostrils flaring. "The moment you  
opened your mouth everybody in the room assumed that you were speaking on  
behalf of the Crown! You left me no choice!" Crossing her arms over her  
chest, she steered him back to the topic at hand. "So once again, Your  
Omniscience, tell us where we might find our enemies!"  
  
Justen thought furiously. "Mother, of course I don't know the exact  
position of every Cerulean. But I have read every report that the  
expeditionary force has sent us, including the secret ones for the Royal  
Family only. We know where they are concentrated, we know of several  
entrances to their cave systems, including those we found out about in  
secret."  
  
"I have read those reports myself," Rune said, waving her hand in a  
dismissive fashion. "They could easily have abandoned those caves,  
especially since they must know we are coming!"  
  
Justen desperately fought down panic. "If we strike quickly we are sure to  
at least obtain some prisoners and evidence to lead us to any who have  
escaped."  
  
Rune sighed as she shook her head. "Since you have already committed us to  
this action, there is little point in arguing its merits. So, what do you  
plan to do right now?"  
  
Justen glanced over to Ifurita, who was standing impassively, as if awaiting  
orders. "I will ask the Queen's Champion to request the Great Priestesses  
come at once to Floristica to help plan the attack."  
  
Ifurita nodded. "Permission to depart?"  
  
It was a moment before Justen realized she was asking him. "Yes, granted.  
Thank --" Ifurita cut him off as she disappeared with a snap of displaced  
air. "-- you," the Prince finished hesitantly. It was hard to concentrate,  
with things suddenly happening too quickly, it felt like the room was  
spinning. "I shall obtain an escort of the Palace Guard and go to the  
Mountaineer's headquarters at the amphitheater. There I will inform Leonid  
of our mission and obtain his assistance in its planning."  
  
Rune nodded in approval, but her face was still cold and hard. "As soon as  
possible you will need to inform the Admiralty of what transport and air  
support you will require. But be sure of one thing: you promised to win  
this war with the Mountain Legion, so that is what you are going to do. The  
only other ground troops we will commit are those elements of the  
Expeditionary Force remaining in Cerulea. That is all you have to work  
with." The hard line of Rune's lips quivered ever so slightly. Justen  
braced himself for another tirade, but she just regarded him with eyes that  
looked to be on the verge of tears. "I suggest you get an early start," his  
mother said in a voice that had become husky from all her shouting. She  
turned on her heel and promptly marched out of the room.  
  
King Kaured stepped closer to Justen and looked down at him sternly. "Son,  
do you know why the Royal Family has ruled Roshtaria for one hundred and  
twenty-four generations?"  
  
Justen frowned and shook his head, not sure what his father was getting at.  
He was, however, keenly aware he and Andria *were* the one hundred and  
twenty-fourth generation.  
  
"It is because no King nor Queen nor Prince nor Princess in any one of those  
one hundred and twenty-four generations ever made an error so grievous as to  
endanger the authority of the Monarchy. Do you understand, Justen?"  
  
Justen swallowed. "Yes, Father."  
  
Kaured's expression hardened. "Before you dare think this burden you have  
taken up is too great to bear, understand the burden you have brought upon  
your mother is far greater. She will have to wait here while the fates of  
her son, her family and her kingdom are decided in a distant land." The  
King placed his massive hands upon Justen's shoulders, squeezing firmly as  
he continued. "You will not disappoint her."  
  
"Y-yes, Father. I m-mean no, Father, I won't."  
  
Kaured simply grunted his assent before taking his leave. Was that all?,  
Justen thought, watching his father's back disappear down the corridor to  
his parent's rooms.  
  
"Your mom and dad are right, you know."  
  
Justen turned to look at Aunt Fatora. "Huh?"  
  
The Princess Regent had her long robes gathered up in her hands and away  
from her legs as was her habit after leaving the public ceremony. She  
graced him with a dangerous smile. "That's the one thing that's different  
about us, my boy. We don't fail, ever. You promise, you deliver. Period."  
Her smile broadened. "Have fun." She turned and walked briskly from the  
antechamber, her rumpled robes spilling out behind her legs. Her rants  
began as they always did, vociferously objecting to meetings where no wine  
was served and pining for the company of her concubine. Within a moment she  
was out of earshot.  
  
He looked down at Andria, who had been standing quietly beside him the whole  
time. She smiled back up at him. "Bring me back a souvenir, okay?"  
Despite her glib reply, he could see the sympathy in her eyes. She too had  
been on the receiving end of many a dressing-down by their parents, no less  
than he. They shared a rare, quiet moment of solidarity before his sister  
retired to her bedchamber. Londs simply bowed low and left without a word.  
  
Justen frowned, staring at the room's other remaining occupant. Rufus  
uncharacteristically kept both his distance and his peace, eyeing his master  
nervously. "What, nothing to say?" he snapped, the continuing silence  
feeling all the more oppressive. He shivered as a cold emptiness fell over  
him.  
  
He had never felt so alone in all his life.  
  
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	9. Rough Justice Ch 09

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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----  
Nine  
----  
  
Makoto stomped past the senior guard, hardly noticing the man's puzzled  
stare as he was waved through. Many things weighed heavily on his mind,  
none made easier by his recent bouts with insomnia. Everyone knew his wife  
needed very little sleep, but of late he had lain awake more nights than  
not. He had grown overly accustomed to Ifurita's comforting presence,  
either lying next to him or puttering around in their library nearby. Sleep  
for Makoto had been elusive and, when it did arrive, tumultuous.  
  
A myriad of half-completed thoughts all seemed to run together as Makoto's  
mind struggled to make sense of them all. While just about everyone had  
been on edge since the disaster at the amphitheater, it was Ifurita's  
behavior that troubled him most. They had seen little of each other in the  
days following the Crown's decision to wage a punitive campaign against the  
Cerulean nation. His wife had been evasive about her comings and goings,  
saying only during the few times their paths crossed such could not be  
helped. On more than one occasion over the last several days, Makoto had  
considered mobilizing his friends and calling in every favor owed him just  
to track her down.  
  
Well finally, Makoto thought as he spied her alone on the balcony. Makoto  
felt relieved a breach of protocol such as calling on the military apparat  
to find her was now unnecessary.  
  
As she turned upon hearing him approach, Makoto was surprised to see her  
smiling warmly at him. Her smile had been an infrequent sight lately, even  
during their few recent encounters. While she had plodded about noisily  
those times, Ifurita's steps now were quick and light. She approached him  
with that familiar twinkle in her eye that prefaced every kiss.  
  
Makoto wanted desperately to forget the other business he knew needed  
discussing.  
  
"I am happy you are here," she said as their lips met. "Come and see."  
Makoto let her lead him by the hand to the heavy stone railing that closed  
off the small balcony. Ifurita took hold of his arm and snuggled up close.  
Together they looked out over the airfield below as if they were sharing  
another spectacular sunset. Seeing her playful smile, Makoto concluded  
Ifurita was quite happy with herself.  
  
The Palace airfield, large as that of a major trading city or naval base,  
was normally reserved for private skiffs and cruisers of the Royal Family  
and their guests. But the pleasure-barges and speedsters were in their  
hangars today to make room for the enormous transport ships that covered the  
tarmac. Makoto noted only briefly the activity below them was not quite as  
frenzied as when he was last here -- looking for his wife, of course.  
  
"We are ahead of schedule," Ifurita said at last, gazing fondly upon the  
soldiers and airmen scrambling to stow their gear. "In fact, we shall  
disembark within the hour."  
  
Makoto turned to face Ifurita, looking at her agog. "B-but everyone was  
saying you'd be leaving tomorrow afternoon at the earliest," he sputtered.  
  
"That is what we have been reporting, yes."  
  
He snorted disgustedly as he regained his composure. "More disinformation,  
then?"  
  
"We felt the fewer people who knew of our true itinerary, the better."  
  
"Sure fooled me," Makoto said as he crossed his arms defensively.  
  
Her smile held no hint of irony. "Then we have bested the Palace rumor  
mill, no small feat indeed."  
  
Makoto sighed disappointedly while eyeing the patterns in the floor tile.  
"So you'll be going out with the ships after all?"  
  
"Of course. I should be at Justen's side whenever I can. In fact I was  
about to return to him." She paused, placing her hands around Makoto's  
shoulders. "After I came to see you, that is. Thank you for saving me the  
trip."  
  
Their eyes met as Makoto put his arms around her waist and pulled her to  
him. He sighed, wishing they could lose themselves in the moment. If even  
only for a fleeting instant, he was glad to see his wife back to her old  
self once again. But the urgency of the situation nagged at him; his  
feelings would have to wait. Breaking their embrace, Makoto held Ifurita  
far enough away to lock eyes with her. "Have you really had enough time to  
gather all the intelligence you could?"  
  
"I think we have extracted all we can from our informants here," his wife  
replied, her voice no longer quite so animated.  
  
"I was talking to Shevlin yesterday. The Intelligence Corps had him up all  
night again, repeating everything he said when he'd first turned himself  
in."  
  
A shadow passed across Ifurita's face as she averted her eyes. "His  
information was particularly valuable," she said woodenly.  
  
"And ten years out of date. Same goes for all the other defectors, Ifurita.  
You could go there and find empty caves. Or people who were never even part  
of Galus' organization."  
  
"We have considered that, Makoto," Ifurita said matter-of-factly. "We have  
evidence that suggests at least one of the perpetrators had ties to Cerulea.  
If nothing else we will find clues to the whereabouts of the rest." She  
pulled away from him, crossing her arms as her gaze returned to her fleet.  
"They shall not elude us for long."  
  
"You know that's not what I meant, Ifurita," Makoto said loudly, flailing  
his arms. "Have you considered the possibility of innocents being harmed?"  
  
"We do not desire to kill anyone, Makoto. On the contrary -- we want to  
take as many prisoners as possible. That is our reason for using the smoke  
grenades."  
  
Makoto hmphed. "I was talking to Qawool yesterday. Sounds to me like  
you're planning to use a lot more than smoke bombs. What's this I hear  
about Justen using her to flood their lower caves to force them up into the  
hands of the Mountain Legion? And with you bombarding the mountain top all  
the while? Is that true, Ifurita?"  
  
"It seems you have been busy," she said, regarding him coldly with eyes of  
blue steel.  
  
"Don't change the subject," Makoto shot back, placing his hands on his hips.  
  
They regarded each other for a long, troubled moment. Ifurita broke the  
uneasy silence, her expression softening before she answered. "Yes, what  
you say is true. We want to make sure all possible escape routes are  
blocked or covered to collect as many prisoners as we can. Certainly, some  
casualties will be inevitable. We shall try to minimize them, of course."  
  
"Well, I'm glad to hear that!" he replied bitterly.  
  
"I take no pleasure in this duty, Makoto!" she shouted, balling up her fists  
at her sides. Ifurita breathed deeply, blowing out her breath before  
continuing. "I wish we did not need to do this. Truly I do."  
  
Makoto sighed helplessly. "I know, Ifurita, I know. It's just... well, all  
this is happening so quickly. We haven't taken time to think one lick about  
what we're doing!"  
  
Ifurita smiled sadly. "It has been a long time since we have scrambled so  
to defend our friends and countrymen, has it not?" she said before her eyes  
unfocused into a faraway stare. "Think of how Prince Justen must feel. All  
of this is his responsibility, ultimately."  
  
"Yeah", Makoto pouted. "The world on his shoulders while barely old enough  
to shave."  
  
She lifted his chin with one finger and smiled dotingly as their eyes met.  
"Just like a certain young man I met once, when he captured my heart."  
  
Makoto managed to return her smile. "So how is he doing?" he asked gently.  
  
"Splendidly. It is largely due to his efforts that we will be able to  
counterattack so quickly. He shall make his mother and father proud -- you  
will see."  
  
Makoto cast Ifurita a sidelong look. "Lately he seems to be more interested  
in making you and al-Farsi proud."  
  
Ifurita's face was suddenly expressionless. "He is under pressure from many  
sources."  
  
"So who pressured him to take on this incredible burden, then?"  
  
"You should give him more credit, Makoto. I confess I was also surprised by  
his proposal. But he did not make it lightly, of that I am sure."  
  
What a clever way of dodging the question, he thought. "Not half as  
surprised as I was when I heard. I wish I'd been there. I'd have given  
them a piece of my mind."  
  
Ifurita looked at the floor. "Then perhaps it was best you were not," she  
said softly.  
  
Makoto felt his fists clench painfully as the awful realization came to him.  
For the first time, he realized the decision to invade Cerulea coming while  
he and Traugot supervised the recovery operation had been anything but  
coincidental.  
  
But he also realized his point was moot at best. Once Justen had spoken on  
behalf of the Crown, it was too late to back out. Or, more likely by  
Makoto's reckoning, whoever had planted the idea in Justen's head had made  
good and sure it was too late to back out. Even if he and Traugot had been  
in the council chambers, no amount of blustering from either of them would  
have changed anything.  
  
"We may question the wisdom of this course," Ifurita continued. "Now that  
Prince Justen has made it, we must support him in any way we can."  
  
"Questioning ill-considered plans is the best sort of support there is!"  
Makoto shouted, unsuccessfully trying to keep the anger out of his voice.  
  
"You know well many other things needs must be considered, Makoto," Ifurita  
said sternly as she turned on him.  
  
Makoto's hands trembled angrily as he grabbed both her hands in his. He  
struggled to open their link as his emotions boiled over.  
  
#Damn it, Ifurita! Have you considered that even if we do find who did  
this, we still can't have Miz and Masamichi back?#  
  
The change in Ifurita's expression and posture was as remarkable as it was  
disquieting. Standing stock still, Makoto felt chills as her face contorted  
into a cold mask of defiance.  
  
#I know that all too well, Makoto. But we certainly can prevent this sort  
of outrage from ever happening again. I shall ensure another Roshtarian  
need not endure what Ai has endured.#  
  
#Do you really believe that, Ifurita?#  
  
"Oh, Lucine! Aren't they the cutest thing while they're spatting?"  
  
Makoto cursed under his breath as his head snapped around toward where the  
slurred voice had come. With her usual air, Fatora waltzed in as if she  
owned the place. Then again, Makoto supposed, she more or less did. With  
her favorite goblet in one hand, which since Alielle's infidelity had come  
to light had been commonplace, in the other she held her favorite concubine.  
  
By the rump, that is.  
  
Fatora had been going through girls like drill bits since Alielle's  
departure. Only within the last year, though, had Lucine been presented to  
the Princess Regent. She had demonstrated her staying power though Makoto  
could not imagine why. Those of Fatora's consorts he had met before had all  
been pleasant company, just as they were trained to be. On the other hand,  
Lucine was obsequious with Fatora and surly with everyone else. Her face  
seemed to be permanently fused in that same sultry smile; Makoto never once  
saw her walk without strutting like some peacock. Despite the tall, dusky,  
voluptuous young woman being almost obscenely beautiful, Makoto found her  
repulsive. He suspected that only endeared Lucine to her all the more.  
  
Ifurita bowed. "Good afternoon, your highness."  
  
"Onesan told me you'll be leaving today, so I thought I'd come toast your  
good fortune," Fatora said, raising her goblet. "So, show me what's  
happening."  
  
Fatora and her silent consort walked over to the balcony railing. She put  
her drink down on the railing and leaned far out, looking down as Ifurita  
deadpanned an explanation of the preparations they were watching. His wife  
kept close to the tipsy princess, no doubt standing by to prevent her from  
falling over the edge. She needn't have bothered, Makoto noted. Lucine  
stuck to Fatora like a barnacle, ostensibly to ward against the same  
eventuality. Watching the scantily clad concubine smile fondly at her  
mistress in her sickeningly sweet way, Makoto worried he would surely retch.  
  
And damn Fatora, anyway. Was this the same Fatora who almost never took  
interest in any affairs of state that now wanted to know everything? "Hey,  
look at the size of those energy rifles they're carrying! Are those  
telescopes on top of them?"  
  
"Yes, Princess. Those are the Mountain Legion's snipers. The scopes are  
treated so that the snipers can see through all but the most powerful  
illusion spells. They will be stationed in the woods around the operational  
theater watching for anyone trying to escape. They can hit a target at two  
hundred yards."  
  
"No kidding? Do they take the ears off their kills?"  
  
"No, Princess, they do not."  
  
"Too bad. I would have asked you for a souvenir." She picked up her goblet  
and took a good swig. "Bloody blue-skinned bastards. Kidnap me back in the  
day and now try to kill my nephew, will they? We'll show them."  
  
Ifurita turned to face Fatora. "If you would excuse me, your highness, I  
must report to Prince Justen before we make final preparations to depart."  
  
"Sure. You give 'em hell now, you hear me?"  
  
Ifurita and Fatora exchanged gleeful smiles that to Makoto appeared  
frighteningly similar. "Oh, we shall, your highness. We most certainly  
shall."  
  
"Damn straight," Fatora said, saluting Ifurita with her drink. "Carry on."  
  
"Thank you, your highness." Picking up her key staff from where it lay  
propped against the stone railing, Ifurita turned to Makoto with a sad,  
apologetic smile only he could see. "I shall have to take my leave now, my  
lord."  
  
Makoto had been hoping for Fatora to leave first, but obviously that was not  
going to happen. "Watch over our Prince for us."  
  
"I shall, my lord." With that, she rose into the air and flew down towards  
the lead transport down on the airfield.  
  
"You're right, mistress," Lucine said in her deep, silky voice as the two  
women undressed Ifurita's departing form in their minds. "She's a real  
dish."  
  
"Your first time seeing her up close, huh? Hey, you think that gets you  
wet, wait until I tell you about the time I had her in bed. I was ready to  
go worship at the Church of the Almighty Demon-God for certain!"  
  
Lucine giggled. "There's a Church of the Demon-God?"  
  
"Yeah, they figure Ifurita can take them to heaven. Ah, but they just have  
no idea!" Fatora cooed. "No idea at all..."  
  
Makoto decided he had heard about enough of Fatora's fantasizing. He took  
advantage of being ignored and slipped away quietly.  
  
It was just like Fatora to show up at exactly the wrong moment. There was  
so much more he wanted to say to his wife before she left on this fool's  
errand. He suspected she had used the Princess' arrival as an excuse to  
make an early departure. After spending the better part of two days looking  
for her, he felt as though he had done no good at all. He had expected her  
to come see him long before now, so he had been content just to wait. But  
he had grown restless and set out to find her himself. Had he known the  
expedition planned to leave so soon, he would have started his search  
earlier.  
  
No point worrying about that now, he thought. There was still much work to  
do, although by now he felt he had wasted most of the day. A sudden growl  
in his stomach reminded him he had not eaten since breakfast. As he glanced  
up through the skylights in the Great Hall he realized it was mid-afternoon  
already. Makoto sighed resignedly, thinking perhaps he should at least eat  
something before trying to solve all Roshtaria's problems.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The two guards stationed outside the doorway to their rooms bowed as Makoto  
approached. Even though Londs had abolished the detail years ago, the  
sentries had reappeared quickly after the attack. "The lady Nanami came  
calling, my lord," the junior man said as he approached. "She desired to  
await your return."  
  
"Only Nanami?"  
  
"That is correct, my lord."  
  
Makoto's brow knit as he struggled to remember the last time Nanami had come  
to visit without having Shevlin with her. He gave up; after Ifurita's  
hurried departure he believed the company would do him good. "Please have  
the servants bring lunch for two."  
  
"At once, my lord."  
  
Makoto waited momentarily as the men opened the double doors for him. He  
walked briskly into the spacious sitting room, eager to talk with his old  
friend. Seeing her long copper braid over the back of the couch, he smiled.  
  
Suddenly she stood bolt upright and whirled around. The sparkle was gone in  
the brown eyes that met his, replaced only with fear and loathing. Makoto's  
face fell.  
  
His mind raced back to that awful day many years ago. It was right after  
Nanami had seen Nahato on Earth when they learned about the silent invasion  
of Galus' remaining Phantom Tribe. He had hoped he would never again see  
that frightened, bewildered expression again. But there it was, just the  
same.  
  
Oh gods, had she discovered spies in the Palace itself?  
  
"Makoto, thank God!" Nanami wailed. For a moment he thought she would  
surely vault the couch between them, but she raced around it instead.  
Nearly bowling him over, she clutched desperately at his shirt while looking  
up at him with liquid eyes. "You've got to help us!"  
  
"Nanami, w-what's happened?" Makoto asked, trying to keep the panic out of  
his own voice.  
  
"They've taken him! They've taken Shevlin!"  
  
"What? Who's taken him?" Did Nanami even know?  
  
"The Palace guard! They took him while I was out buying herbs! Jilyn saw  
the whole thing! I ran the whole way here, but nobody knows anything!"  
  
Makoto's mind reeled. This makes no sense!  
  
"Aren't they just interviewing him again? He was one of Galus' top--"  
  
"It wasn't just intelligence officers!" Nanami shouted, giving him a good  
shake. "It was a whole squad of armed guards, Makoto! They wouldn't do  
that just to bring someone in for voluntary questioning!"  
  
She was right about that. He gently took hold of her shoulders, trying to  
calm her. "Nan, this is probably all a mistake. Things have been crazy  
around here. Maybe somebody hadn't been informed that Shevlin had already  
volunteered for questioning, and was afraid he would skip town."  
  
"But why won't anyone talk to me?" Nanami implored him. "They almost  
wouldn't let me into your room!"  
  
That was disturbing indeed. Nanami had much the same status Makoto did here  
in the Palace; she could go almost anywhere she liked. "We should find  
Londs. He's coordinating security operations here at the Palace -- if  
anybody can fix this mess it's him. Let's go right now, okay?"  
  
Nanami sniffed and nodded, giving a soft, muffled sound of agreement. Ura  
sat silently watching them from atop the couch back with a look of mild  
concern. No doubt the cat-armor had been snuggled up against Makoto's  
friend as she waited for him, sensing her distress. In a flash of  
inspiration, seeing the orange-maned cat gave him an idea.  
  
"Ura!" Makoto yelled, patting his shoulder. Leaping from the back of the  
sofa, the big cat wrapped herself securely around his torso, covering him  
like corset armor. He chuckled in response to Nanami's puzzled stare.  
"Makes me look like I'm on official business. It'll grease the wheels of  
Palace security." He put an arm about Nanami's shoulder and steered her to  
the door. "Just try to stay quiet and let me do the talking, all right?  
I've become a pro at seeing people whose doormen think they're too busy."  
  
After calling in more than a few favors, Makoto learned Londs was working  
from an office next to the detention block. That fact in itself troubled  
him. As Makoto and Nanami briskly retraced their steps along the  
insufferably long palace corridors, they heard the low thrumming of the  
transport flyers' engines. Through the high arched openings that lined the  
curved corridor, Makoto saw two lines of the armored behemoths ascending  
into the sky. "What's with all the boats leaving?" Nanami asked without  
glancing up.  
  
Makoto knew full well he was not to speak of the expedition to anyone  
outside the Council. Damn them anyway! They owe Nanami at least as much as  
they owe me, he thought. She has a right to know.  
  
"It's a punitive expedition heading for Cerulea."  
  
Nanami stopped as though she had hit a wall. "W-what?" was all she could  
manage as she blinked at him, utterly stupefied. "Makoto, do you know  
something I don't?"  
  
Makoto knew he had neither time nor breath enough to go into details, never  
mind telling Nanami how he really felt. "We found evidence suggesting the  
Phantom Tribe in Cerulea was responsible for the attack," he said, unable to  
meet her eyes.  
  
"Oh, no," Nanami breathed. "Dear God. We thought that was just some stupid  
rumor!"  
  
With that she was off again, sprinting down the corridor. Having not eaten  
for some time and still feeling the effects of his sleeplessness, Makoto was  
hard pressed to keep up.  
  
The underground block was cramped, ill lit and musty smelling, reminding  
Makoto of something right out of a low-budget horror flick. He and Nanami  
had to pass two checkpoints before being ushered into a small, low-ceilinged  
antechamber to wait.  
  
Makoto looked over at Nanami now and again, noting each time her panic was  
slowly but surely being replaced with seething anger. She sat there fuming,  
arms crossed, staring at the wooden door. He wondered whether its iron  
hinges might begin to melt if she stared at the door long enough. Time  
seemed to drag on endlessly while the desk sergeant paid them little notice.  
  
After what certainly seemed longer than a few minutes, the door opened to  
admit a guard officer hurrying off as if carrying out new orders. The desk  
sergeant disinterestedly waved them in before returning to his paperwork.  
  
Londs' office was even smaller than the antechamber. A single window slit  
high up on one bare stone wall shed little light, but a ceiling glowlamp  
provided enough to read by. Londs' heavily lined face looked weary and sad,  
to Makoto becoming more so seeing them enter.  
  
"I knew at length you would seek me out," he said, sighing heavily while  
gesturing for them to sit. Ura slid out from around Makoto's middle,  
perching on one corner of the heavy wooden desk. "Close the door behind  
you."  
  
Makoto hadn't even slid the latch bolt closed before Nanami came undone.  
"What the hell is the meaning of this?" she screamed, slamming both hands  
down hard on the desk and sending Ura scurrying. "My husband was hauled off  
in chains by a whole squad of armed guards this morning! WHY?!"  
  
So much for letting me do the talking, Makoto thought glumly. But Londs  
acted as though he had been expecting this, not so much as raising an  
eyebrow during her outburst. In fact, the old man looked somewhat relieved.  
  
"Your husband is being held here in the palace under protective custody, as  
are the other former operatives of the Tribe's intelligence network," he  
said while Ura cautiously returned to her perch.  
  
"'Protective custody?' What the hell does that mean? Is he under arrest or  
isn't he?!"  
  
"No, he is not. But he is not free to leave the Palace either." Londs'  
voice went flat, as though repeating some official slogan he had long since  
wearied of. "Merely for his own safety, of course."  
  
"His own safety?" Nanami asked only slightly less loudly. "And just who,  
pray tell, are you protecting him *from*?"  
  
"From vigilantes who might commit violence against Tribesmen."  
  
Nanami reacted as though she had been slapped. "D-did something happen?"  
  
Londs appeared ready to recite another distasteful official policy but  
sighed instead. "No, nothing has happened, at least not yet," he said,  
shaking his head. "Nevertheless my superiors believed violence against  
Tribesmen was likely given recent revelations. Thus I was ordered to detain  
all their former operatives, including Shevlin."  
  
"Ordered by whom?"  
  
Makoto felt his heart sink, trying but failing to find fault with his own  
hypothesis. "Nanami--"  
  
"Who gave the order, Londs? Tell me!"  
  
"The Champion requested it, and the Queen approved."  
  
Nanami's words failed her as she stared dumbfounded at the old man. Makoto  
protested, more to refute his own conclusions rather than Londs'  
presentation of the facts. "No, there must be some mistake."  
  
The man met Makoto's gaze, the sadness clear in his weary eyes. "I was in  
the Sovereignty Council meeting when Lady Ifurita requested this action," he  
said before pausing to rub his temples. Makoto had never before seen him  
look so tired or so aged. He felt badly for his old friend, dealing with  
bad business such as this in the eve of his long and distinguished service  
to the Crown.  
  
Londs looked back up at the two of them. "Of course Her Majesty and I  
questioned the proposal, but the Champion was adamant. She eventually  
relented."  
  
"I don't get it," Makoto said. "If you're trying to prevent violence  
against Tribesmen, having them marched into detention under armed guard is  
the last thing Floristicans need to see."  
  
"It's got nothing to do with protection."  
  
Both Londs and Makoto looked at Nanami. Her tone had softened but could not  
hide her overwhelming bitterness. The wild anger in her face had settled  
down to a cold fury.  
  
"You just don't trust them, do you? Even after they turned themselves in,  
spilled their guts and turned their backs on everything they knew, you still  
don't trust them," she ranted, waving her hands in the air wildly. "My God,  
Londs -- they've been living here over twenty years! They're more  
Roshtarian than most Roshtarians!"  
  
"Many of them have been among us secretly for a good deal longer than that,  
Nanami," Londs deadpanned.  
  
Both Nanami and Makoto stared incredulously at Londs, shocked to hear him  
say such a thing.  
  
"Londs, that's not fair," Makoto said at last, breaking the uncomfortable  
silence. "You've been as supportive of the defectors as anyone. I can't  
believe I'm hearing this from you."  
  
To which Londs merely smiled wanly. "Precisely what I told the Champion  
when she said to me what I have just said to you."  
  
"And what was her answer?" Nanami asked.  
  
"That it was for their own protection."  
  
"That's what I thought," she said, standing again. Ura once again dove for  
cover as Nanami banged both fists hard on the desk, this time upsetting the  
inkwell. "I demand to see my husband, Londs! NOW!!"  
  
Londs' face took on a frown of obstinate officialdom as he glowered a moment  
at the little river of ink trickling over his ruined papers. "That is  
simply not possible at this time, Nanami," he replied, looking back up at  
her as she panted angrily. "I have strict orders that nobody is to see them  
for at least a week." Abruptly a touch of irony entered his voice. "So  
that nobody knows where they are detained, as if there were anyone left who  
does not."  
  
He stood and approached Makoto and Nanami while pulling at the front of his  
tunic. Towering over them both, Londs placed his hands comfortingly on  
Nanami's shoulders. "My lady, you have my word of honor that neither  
Shevlin nor the other Tribesmen in my custody have been harmed. I shall see  
to it that they are well treated. After a week, I shall arrange for you to  
see him whenever you wish."  
  
"Damn it all, I just want to see him for a minute!" Nanami begged as she  
groped desperately at Londs' cloak. "Okay, I take your word that he's all  
right, but he's probably worried about how I'm holding up. Just for a  
minute, Londs. Please?"  
  
The old man shook his head. "I'm sorry, Nanami. However, I shall  
personally go see him straight away. I will tell him you were here and  
reassure him you are well." Londs held out his hands and shrugged. "That  
is the best I can do."  
  
Nanami let go of Londs' cloak and straightened up. "Fine. Since there's  
obviously no point arguing with you, I'll be back in a week."  
  
"Before you take your leave, there is one more thing we should discuss."  
  
Makoto felt suddenly uneasy as Nanami glared at Londs with daggers in her  
eyes. "Given the situation, we are suggesting the adopted families of  
Tribesmen also voluntarily submit to protective confinement. Perhaps you  
might stay with Lord Mizuhara until--"  
  
"Damn you, Londs! Damn you to hell!" Nanami shrieked before stomping  
towards the door.  
  
"Wait, Nan!" Makoto pleaded, moving to intercept her.  
  
Nanami turned on him, allowing Makoto to see the anger flaring behind her  
misting eyes. She jabbed her finger accusingly into his face as tears began  
to trickle down her cheeks.  
  
"I'm not even going to bother asking whether *you* knew anything about this,  
Makoto. As usual you are utterly oblivious to everything going on around  
you. Go stick your head back in the sand!"  
  
She yanked the heavy door open with force that belied her slight frame.  
Makoto winced as the iron bindings clanged loudly against the doorstop,  
echoing throughout the detention block.  
  
Makoto only managed to take half a step toward the door before Londs called  
his name. "Londs, I--"  
  
The old man shook his head. "You know well as I your good intentions would  
be for naught." Once again Londs motioned toward the wooden chairs in front  
of his desk. "Come sit down, my friend. We needs must talk."  
  
Reluctantly, Makoto did as he was asked. "Londs, just when did Ifurita  
suggest this? And what is this Sovereignty Council anyway? I've never  
heard of it."  
  
"It is something that does not exist, well, at least not officially. It  
consists of the King and Queen, the Champion, the Commandant of the Navy,  
the Grand Marshall of the Army and me. It was actually formed years ago,  
but this is the first time we have done more than discuss possible threats  
to the Alliance."  
  
"I notice Justen is not on your list."  
  
"The Prince knows nothing about it," Londs' replied, narrowing his eyes.  
"And neither do you."  
  
Makoto nodded. He deduced from the list of names alone this Sovereignty  
Council's sole charter was to uphold the sovereignty of the Roshtarian  
crown. But such only served to confound him more. "I was merely wondering  
whether the Sovereignty Council had anything to do with Justen's proposal  
for the expedition."  
  
"No. We were all just as surprised as everyone else. Everyone, I'd wager,  
except Ifurita and al-Farsi," he said, crossing his arms disgustedly as he  
reclined in his chair.  
  
Makoto's eyes went wide. "How do you figure?"  
  
"Process of elimination, really. It is my business to know what goes on in  
the Palace, so I know exactly whom Justen has been seeing of late. I also  
know who has been speaking in the strongest terms about retaliation for the  
attack. I find it difficult to believe you did not already suspect them  
yourself."  
  
Makoto shrugged. "I did. But I still can't comprehend why."  
  
"Al-Farsi is the easy one. He has friends in the military, was instrumental  
in forming the Mountain Legion, and has always been a hard-liner on the  
treatment of former enemies," Londs said, counting on his fingers. "His  
home province also stands to gain economically if from the geynosanium mines  
should Cerulea become a formal member of the Alliance. Either of those  
alone would be reason enough for him to support a military solution. As for  
Ifurita..." Londs' voice drifted off as shrugged.  
  
"She seems driven by... well, personal reasons. Actually, Makoto, I was  
hoping you might enlighten me."  
  
Makoto was uncomfortable talking about this. But Londs had told him far  
more than he had a right to know. He owed his old friend the truth.  
  
"She was devastated by the deaths of Lord Fujisawa and Lady Miz," he said  
quietly, more to the floor than to anyone else. "Their daughter is our  
goddaughter, you know. I don't think even I realized how much they meant to  
her. She seemed lost without them." Makoto looked up into the old man's  
eyes. "But when we found out about the connection with Cerulea, she  
suddenly became focused again. I've hardly seen her in the past week,  
Londs." Makoto stood up, twiddling nervously at his mustache. "She hasn't  
been home to sleep for days. She can do that when she needs to. I think I  
can understand why she's eager for payback, but this business with Shevlin  
is so senseless!"  
  
"You think her concern for his safety is not justified?"  
  
Makoto considered the man's question for a moment and then shook his head.  
"No, Nanami's right; this has nothing to do with protection. If it did, she  
would have at least spoken with Nanami and Shevlin herself. They wouldn't  
have liked it, but at least they might have understood. She must see  
Shevlin as a threat to what she's doing." He leaned up against the wall,  
puffing his cheeks as he blew out his breath. "Shev's Phantom Tribe.  
That's all Ifurita seems to need."  
  
"I could not help but notice the Champion's timing," Londs said. "She made  
certain by the time you found out about this, she had already disembarked  
for Cerulea."  
  
"Yeah." Londs' astute observation only served to confirm what he already  
suspected. Ifurita had been avoiding him, perhaps even intending to leave  
before Makoto had chance to talk with her at all. "I did see her briefly,"  
he said in a small voice, feeling ashamed. "We didn't get much chance to  
talk."  
  
"I don't think it is just you she is evading, my friend," Londs said  
comfortingly. "The Champion has been virtually unapproachable of late by  
anyone save for the Royal Family and Minister al-Farsi. She has immersed  
herself in the details of the operation and its preparations. Consciously  
or unconsciously, I believe what she is really avoiding is an opportunity  
for anyone to question her actions."  
  
It sounded to Makoto like the old man had figured this out long ago. He  
stood up abruptly, his jaw set with determination. "Thank you for  
everything, Londs. I should be going now." Ura leapt up from the floor,  
wrapping herself around him as he turned toward the door.  
  
"I hope you are not entertaining thoughts of going to Cerulea, young man.  
The arrow has been loosed; there is no stopping it now."  
  
"I know. But there may be something I can do here," Makoto said from the  
doorway. "I'll be at the amphitheater helping Traugot with the analyses."  
He did not bother to turn around before pulling the heavy door shut behind  
him.  
  
Nanami is right, Makoto thought as he and Ura made a beeline back to his  
rooms. I have had my head in the sand until now.  
  
But not any more.  
  
An old song lyric came to him along with an idea, and a smile slowly came to  
his face. He felt a lightness he hadn't felt in days as he left the dreary  
dungeon. Without even realizing it, Makoto began humming along with the  
tune in his head.  
  
"I get by with a little help from my friends."  
  
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	10. Rough Justice Ch 10

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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---  
Ten  
---  
  
It was unnerving, flying through the murky darkness like this. Qawool clung  
tightly to the Champion, though she knew she was perfectly safe. The  
Demon-God held the Great Priestess of Water in her strong arms as they flew  
through the night sky. The damp mountain air had been rapidly cooling since  
their arrival after sunset. She found herself shivering involuntarily.  
  
"Are you cold?" Ifurita asked.  
  
"A little. I'll be fine."  
  
"We shall arrive at our destination in less than a minute."  
  
They had decided this would be the last place Qawool would check. They  
really could have skipped it, since they had already found an ideal spot.  
But the Champion was being very thorough, as Qawool had come to expect.  
  
They lost both speed and altitude, and presently Qawool's feet were back on  
solid ground. The feel of the ground and the musty decaying smell in the  
air told her she was back in the forest that surrounded the mountain redoubt  
they were about to assault.  
  
"We are approximately three miles west-northwest of the peak," Ifurita  
informed her.  
  
"Okay," Qawool replied, forming a mental picture of where she was. She knew  
that Ifurita had positioned her facing the peak. This was all routine by  
now, though no less disorienting. Qawool had only the Champion's word with  
which to orient herself; she felt like she was stumbling around blindfolded.  
She sank down to her knees and placed her hand upon the mossy ground. Her  
blue ring glowed softly as she called upon her power, probing the ground far  
below with her elemental senses. In the inky blackness and silence of the  
still, cloudy night there was nothing to drown out the crystal clarity of  
her water vision. She could almost believe she was floating amidst the  
myriad streams of water that flowed around her. She probed as deeply as she  
could, but found nothing. "No major underground streams here," she  
announced, taking to her feet again. "It looks like the second spot is  
still best. There's plenty of porous rock for the water to push through.  
It's also high enough to flood the entire nest, possibly in as little as  
three hours."  
  
"Then that is how we shall proceed. Let us be away now." That was Qawool's  
signal to let herself be picked up off the ground again. In another moment  
they were airborne and speeding through the chilly night air once more.  
"Clouds are breaking up on schedule," Ifurita announced, surprising Qawool  
by breaking the silence she had become accustomed to. "Another bit of good  
luck for us. Landing the boats in low overcast would have been tricky  
business."  
  
Ifurita had actually flown up to the edge of the atmosphere yesterday to get  
a good view of the weather patterns. The very idea of going up into the  
void that stretched between the stars was something unimaginable to Qawool,  
despite having traversed the wormholes numerous times herself. "Is it even  
colder up there? I mean, up there in... space?"  
  
"It is both cold and hot," Ifurita said in a tone that suggested they should  
remain focused on the task at hand. Qawool maintained her silence for the  
rest of the trip. Even though she knew firsthand Ifurita was by necessity  
aloof while immersed in battle, her longtime friend seemed so different now.  
Had Ifurita really become so cold before? Qawool did not believe such to be  
so. Then again, many years had passed since the Great Priestesses of  
Muldoon had taken up arms beside the Demon-God. Perhaps she was simply  
waxing nostalgic.  
  
By the time Ifurita brought her back to the place Qawool had decided upon,  
the clouds had cleared up considerably. Though a hint of pre-dawn blush  
could be seen in the eastern sky, Ifurita was still little more than a  
shadow. "This is a bit closer than I am comfortable with," the Champion  
said. "I wish Kiku or Elena were here to assist you."  
  
"You will need them more than I," Qawool said. "And I will be in my  
element, after all. I can act more freely if I am alone."  
  
Ifurita chuckled, much to Qawool's surprise. "You are correct, of course,"  
the Champion said as she placed one hand gently on Qawool's shoulder. "Be  
not reckless, my friend. All we require of you is opening the stream into  
their lower caves. If you can do no more or if they move against you,  
simply return here to this spot. We will have secured this ground long  
before you return. Understand?"  
  
"Yes, Champion," Qawool said with the formality required when acknowledging  
an order.  
  
"We shall rid this world of these vermin just like we did Earth. I must  
return to the flagship now. Good luck to you."  
  
"And to you, Ifurita," Qawool said, impulsively taking the Demon-God's hand  
in both of hers. "Good hunting."  
  
"Thank you." The shadow simply vanished, and Qawool was alone.  
  
She sat down in the hiding place between two large rocks that Ifurita had  
found for her and settled in for the long wait. She knew that even if the  
Phantom Tribe were patrolling these grounds closely, the chances of her  
being found here were very slight. Still, she was realizing now just how  
comforting the Demon-God's presence had been to her. Nobody had liked this  
part of the plan, her hiding out in enemy territory until she was ready to  
play her part. But she had persuaded them she could do this job on her own.  
She was hardly the greenhorn she had been when they fought Galus on Earth.  
In the next hour the Champion would have a hundred things to worry about.  
Qawool did not want to be one of them.  
  
Her thoughts drifted through the mad frenzy of preparations that had been  
the past week of her life. It seemed like this mission had already gone on  
forever, yet this was the first waking moment in days where she had any  
chance to think back upon what had been going on. Certainly none of the  
priestesses had any idea what they would be in for when they had pledged  
themselves to the Prince's mission. He and the Champion had them meeting  
with dozens of officers who mercilessly beat into them everything they would  
need to know to be part of the operation. Chains of command, procedures,  
standard signals, rules of engagement, timetables, contingency plans -- the  
list of items to review seemed endless. And then there were the long hours  
poring over maps and memorizing place names. This was her first time in  
Cerulea, yet Qawool felt she knew this little piece of it as well as she  
knew her hometown. Presumably that was the whole idea, intended to narrow  
the enemy's home field advantage.  
  
It was only dawning on her now just how little they really knew about the  
enemy they were about to face. All those nice timetables made it look like  
everything was going to go like clockwork. But as Leonid had confided in  
her in one of his more candid moments, no plan ever survives contact with  
the enemy.  
  
The one thing nobody seemed to have considered is what may have suddenly  
emboldened the Phantom Tribe to strike at the heart of the Alliance. Had  
they found some new weapon, some relic from the Holy Wars? Was the Prince  
leading them right into a trap? Qawool shook her head violently, willing  
her mind and body into the relaxed state required for her upcoming task.  
Releasing nervous energy could sap all her strength even before the battle  
was joined, if she let it. There was no point worrying about things she  
could do nothing about; she had enough on her mind already. They all did.  
  
With impossible slowness, dawn came to the green, mist-shrouded mountains.  
She noted with satisfaction that she could orient herself easily. All those  
hours studying the relief maps and models had paid off. But no map could  
prepare her for the beauty and grandeur of the vista that was emerging from  
the darkness.  
  
It seemed to be a land in slumber. The stillness was interrupted only by an  
occasional bird that would call out or fly languidly along the valley. The  
only sign of civilization within her sight was a cluster of little huts far  
down in the valley, reduced to motes by the distance. A tiny column of  
smoke rose from one chimney. Somebody was up early.  
  
"Designated East Hamlet of the Thule Valley," she recalled, hearing Leonid's  
voice drone on during their pre-dawn briefing. "To be secured in the first  
wave by two companies of the First Battalion, who will then fan out up the  
east slope."  
  
All of a sudden everything that had been drilled into her over the past week  
crystallized in her mind. What had been a map and pieces moving across it  
became the misty valley spread out before her and the great, thrumming ships  
they had been confined in for days. She could see exactly where they would  
drop their bombs, exactly where they would land, exactly how the thousands  
of Mountaineers would advance, exactly how the smoke and deafening  
explosions echoing across the valley would camouflage their movements.  
  
Stop it, she rebuked herself. This isn't doing you any good.  
  
It was still early, but better early than late. Qawool set aside the cloak  
that had been protecting her from the chill of the rarefied mountain air.  
She moved back to where the rock gave way to damp soil and placed her hand  
upon the ground. The water far below moved to her command. She could feel  
it surging up through the ground to find its mistress. It moved to her will  
more easily than had the waters of Earth, all those years ago. She had  
eventually come to understand the waters of that alien world, but never  
quite in the intimate way she knew the water of El Hazard. Her doubts faded  
at the approach of her ally, her element, her one true love.  
  
The torrent of water sprang eagerly from the ground at her feet, surrounding  
her in a shimmering blue bubble that briefly joined the pre-dawn light in  
illuminating the surrounding rocks. A moment later the earth gave way to  
her water's irresistible force, and she slipped through it as easily as she  
would through air. The earth closed up again behind her, leaving naught  
save a muddy puddle to mark where she had disappeared.  
  
The water found the path of least resistance, as it always does. Within  
minutes she was moving along with the little underground stream. Not being  
in any hurry, she just let the water carry her along. Qawool was happy to  
lose herself in the music of the water, if only for a little while.  
  
Eventually she came upon her destination, the underground lake she had  
detected from the surface. It was actually larger and deeper than she had  
expected, but even so hardly worthy of being called a lake at all. It was  
barely fifty yards across at its widest. She was happy to see there was a  
substantial air pocket above her. Qawool rose up to it and relaxed her hold  
on the water, letting it caress her body with surface tension pulled just  
tight enough to keep her dry. Her head broke the surface, sending gentle  
ripples out across a lake that may well have remained undisturbed for  
centuries. The sterile water had no natural luminescence, so she coaxed  
some from the water around her. What it revealed took her breath away.  
  
I've never seen such crystals, she thought wondrously. The rock face above  
her was covered in fine, delicate clear crystals that seemed to dance in the  
reflected light of the rippling water. It was like sitting just below a  
natural chandelier. This was just the sort of place, a private place that  
only she would ever see, that she could happily spend hours floating in.  
  
Except that in just a little while, probably just a few minutes, she would  
be draining this lake for good. Qawool sighed as she took in the beauty of  
this place one last time.  
  
She waited. The elemental forces kept the water around her pleasantly warm.  
Yet she could not help feeling the chill of her surroundings. She was close  
to their enemy's den, very close, almost right upon them. The water was  
hers, but the realm it flowed through was theirs. Did they already know she  
was here? And what was Ifurita waiting for? Had something gone wrong?  
  
Qawool felt the concussion an instant before she heard it, rolling through  
her pretty little world and echoing like thunder. And here she had worried  
she might not be able to hear when the bombardment began. Ifurita and her  
Staff Key were clear over on the other side of the mountain, after all. The  
sheer force of impact stunned her. Little shards of crystal plopped into  
the water all around her, making the surface look briefly like it was  
dappled with rain. In a moment of panic she thought maybe it was not  
Ifurita at all but some enemy weapon much closer, maybe something zeroing in  
on her. But then she felt a second concussion, then another, all  
unmistakably originating from the mountain far above her.  
  
It was her signal to move in. She formed the water into a bubble around  
her, and shot down to the bottom of the lake. Where moments before she had  
gently coaxed the earth aside, now she charged through it like a juggernaut.  
The torrent of water she commanded sought out the weak points in the rocks,  
split them, churned them, pushed them into the fissures and channels left  
dry when ancient streams had been choked off. Where the rock resisted she  
threw water against it with the force of a great hammer, pulverizing it.  
  
She was aware of the cave in front of her an instant before she broke  
through into it. Suddenly there was no more resistance to the rushing  
water, and it was all she could do to keep herself from being thrown against  
the opposite wall. Far from driving the water onward she had to keep it at  
bay just to save herself from being smashed against the opposite rock face.  
She found a relatively calm eddy in one corner of the cave and had a look at  
what her luminescence revealed. It was obviously an inhabited cave. The  
water had already reached up to the ceiling, and was driving most of the  
room's contents out the two wide tunnels that led out towards where they  
though the main cave complex was. From what she could make out, this area  
served as a barracks. If there had been anybody here, they would have long  
since been swept away.  
  
Qawool opened her senses to the flow of the water, becoming one with it,  
feeling where it was going. It went everywhere, gushing down through  
tunnels too numerous and torturous for her to get a clear picture of. "They  
will try to contain the flood," Ifurita had told her. "Their tunnels are  
designed to converge on choke points. You will probably have to break  
through armored doors they have set up to isolate either floods or attacks."  
  
Yet to her it appeared the flood was not being contained. It simply plunged  
headlong without her having to do anything. Not needing her entire  
concentration to control the water's ascent, Qawool could feel the  
thunderous reports of Ifurita's staff reverberating throughout the mountain.  
  
She decided to venture out through one of the tunnels. The water filled it  
through and through now, carrying her along at a dizzying pace. The first  
cave she emerged into was larger, filled to the ceiling with churning  
flotsam. Her shimmering blue penumbra illuminated rows of machines and  
workbenches, many of which were now tipped over or in pieces.  
  
Is this where they made their bombs? Qawool wondered silently, wishing she  
had paid more attention to Lord Mizuhara's endless ramblings on mechanics.  
She memorized the location as best she could and moved on, passing through  
one cave after another. She saw storage rooms, kitchens, and what looked  
like a mushroom farm. Soon she passed an enormous meeting hall with an  
altar in one corner. The symbols carved into it were undoubtedly carved  
many millennia ago by a Phantom Tribe Shaman or Shamaness.  
  
The immensity of the complex astonished her. It must have housed thousands.  
Gods, she thought desperately, the Mountaineers might actually be  
outnumbered! There were no signs of armories or defensive positions here.  
But, then again, she had come in through the back door so to speak. Gods  
only knew what awaited them above.  
  
Qawool encountered her first Tribesman. He was floating up at the top of a  
small cave, face down. His open mouth disgorged the occasional bubble as  
his sightless eyes bulged. The man's arms and legs flapped lazily. Here  
was one who had not moved fast enough, she thought ruefully as she looked  
away. You knew you were going to see this, she reminded herself. There's  
no doubt worse to come. Deal with it.  
  
Having descended to what she believed were the lowest chambers of the  
complex, Qawool worked her way back up to where the Mountaineers would be  
assaulting the known entrances. If her help was needed, it would be there.  
On the way she encountered more victims of the flash flood. She was shocked  
by the sight of two tiny bodies floating among them.  
  
She gulped. Of course they would have children here, she thought sadly. It  
is not only a fortress, it is their home. Considering the speed with which  
the caves had been flooded, she was astonished more Tribesmen had not  
drowned.  
  
Qawool broke the surface of water that was now just gently rising through a  
sloped corridor. Now in open air, she could hear other sounds besides the  
dreadful drumbeat of Demon-God power. There were many voices far down the  
corridor, all shouting and screaming. But it did not seem to be a battle.  
There was no gunfire.  
  
Cautiously, Qawool made her way up the smooth floor of the narrow roughhewn  
tunnel. Little glow-lamps gave dull illumination at regular intervals. As  
she advanced, she began to notice the smell of smoke-bombs. Damn, I forgot,  
Qawool chided herself while pulling a pair of goggles and a filter-mask out  
of her uniform's pockets. She set the goggles over her eyes but hung the  
mask loosely around her neck, just in case it might be needed.  
  
She felt her skin crawl as she looked up and down the corridor. Maybe she  
expected to see shadowy assassins closing in on her. But the goggles helped  
her confirm the corridor was empty. After another moment she felt brave  
enough to climb further up the slope.  
  
Qawool heard running footsteps approaching her from above. Don't panic, do  
as you were told, she ordered herself. She formed a brightly glowing little  
whirlpool of water around her hand before going down into a defensive  
crouch. Anyone coming down the corridor would just see the dazzling  
whirlpool and a dark form amidst the dancing shadows behind it, giving no  
clear target. She could see shadows descending towards her, more cautiously  
now. "Priestess Qawool of North Red Group!" she shouted, giving her call  
sign.  
  
"Sergeant Vekshith of West Blue Group!" came the muffled, shouted reply.  
Qawool relaxed a little upon hearing a correct call sign. But she still  
approached with caution. The mountaineer who had spoken advanced ahead of  
his men. They all now had their rifles directed at the ceiling. Vekshith  
pulled down his filter mask, revealing his wide grin. "We're glad to see  
you, Priestess."  
  
She returned his smile. "You are well met, Sergeant."  
  
"You run into any trouble?"  
  
"None. But this passage is blocked," she said, pointing her thumb over her  
shoulder. "The water is right behind me and still rising."  
  
"What, already? Damn, no wonder they came running."  
  
Qawool frowned. "You've met resistance?"  
  
"For about two minutes, yes. Then they couldn't come and surrender fast  
enough. Looks like you and the Champion brought them running right into our  
loving embrace," he chuckled. "We're just here mopping up."  
  
"The caves are flooding much faster than I anticipated. You should get word  
to your superiors to halt any further advance downward. We don't want  
anyone getting trapped by rising water."  
  
"Right, we'll get word back to our company commander. Do you want an escort  
back to the surface?"  
  
Qawool smiled. "If you please," she said, chuckling inwardly at such irony.  
She might very well be the deadliest warrior on the battlefield, save the  
Champion herself, yet they were treating her like *she* needed protection.  
It was an attitude she had found common among the soldiers she had met in  
the past few days. But further intervention from her appearing to be  
unnecessary, she was quite content to let these strapping young lads escort  
her out of the caves.  
  
After just a couple of minutes, the concussions of the bombardment that had  
become part of the background suddenly ceased. In its absence Qawool  
realized that the explosions had been getting gradually louder as the  
Champion walked her strikes closer. "Right on schedule," Vekshith  
proclaimed after glancing at his chronometer.  
  
By the time they got back to the cave where their company commander had  
hastily set up a command post of sorts, Qawool found it necessary to don her  
filter mask. The residual smoke hung in the air, intensifying the gloom.  
The commander briefly questioned her about what she had seen, then sent  
runners to relay her warning to adjacent posts. He instructed Vekshith and  
his squad to lead her to the nearest cave entrance. Each cave they passed  
through had a pair of masked soldiers on guard who waved them through.  
Other squads of soldiers hurried back and forth, though with no particular  
sense of urgency. Twice they saw pairs of soldiers roughly herding a  
coughing, staggering Tribesman along the tunnel.  
  
A few days ago Qawool had briefly been exposed to the smoke without the  
benefit of a mask. It had certainly incapacitated her, just as advertised.  
In contrast to the shambles left of the lower caves, these here looked like  
the Mountaineers had just walked through them without touching anything.  
There was no sign of a struggle anywhere, in fact, everything looked  
remarkably intact.  
  
Until she got to the next cave, that is. "By the Goddess..."  
  
"That one was a bitch," Vekshith shouted through his mask. "Begging your  
pardon, ma'am. Able Squad of our company lost two men here. We had to  
shoot concussion grenades through the murder holes."  
  
It was more a small rectangular room than a cave. It was strewn with  
rubble, from the collapsed ceiling and walls that revealed hidden tunnels  
behind. No doubt that was where the grenades had demolished the thin stone  
walls through which the Phantom Tribe assassins had shot. It was similar to  
what they had seen at the entrance to Galus' redoubt on Earth. At least  
that bit of intelligence had done some good in suggesting the best way to  
deal with these guard-posts. She glimpsed the remains of the enemy under  
the rubble. They walked through quickly.  
  
As expected, the next tunnel was short and Qawool soon saw daylight.  
Pulling down her mask, she emerged into what an hour ago had no doubt been a  
valley similar to the one she had waited in on the other side of the  
mountain. Now, however, it was a vision of hell.  
  
To her left, everything was obscured by a mammoth wall of smoke that  
billowed high in the sky. Even though she could not see through the smoke,  
Qawool knew Ifurita had laid waste to several square miles of mountainside.  
She could hear landslides still rumbling off in that direction. The wide  
valley below was shrouded in smoke from both the smoke bombs and the  
numerous fires.  
  
Qawool coughed several times, wondering if pulling down her filter mask had  
been such a good idea. But this was the highest entrance, allowing the  
stiff morning breeze to clear the air somewhat.  
  
She gazed out over the valley, noting the positions of landed ships. There  
were still a fair number of ships and small skiffs patrolling the skies on  
this side of the mountain. Everything seemed to be in its place. The  
assault must have gone down like clockwork. Most of the soldiers she could  
see seemed to be occupied marching columns of prisoners down into the  
valley. She winced upon hearing the report of an energy rifle far away. No  
doubt snipers were dealing with Tribesmen trying to break out of the  
perimeter the Mountaineers had established.  
  
She went to a nearby grounded skiff that was acting as the local command  
post and found the battalion commander, who smiled and saluted her. He  
seemed to be in good spirits. "Thanks for reporting in, Priestess. I don't  
think we'll need to call upon the Great Priestesses any more today. I just  
got word we've ceased offensive operations."  
  
"Any word about my sister Priestesses?" Qawool asked. They had each been  
tasked to spearhead an assault on one of the entrances. She was worried  
about them.  
  
"Yes, they're both fine." He pointed down into the valley. "The cruiser  
Defiant has laid down at West Hamlet Three, as planned. No hurry, but the  
Prince has asked you to meet him there at your earliest convenience. We've  
swept and secured everything within an entire league, but I'll let Sergeant  
Vekshith and his men here escort you down anyway."  
  
It would have been impolite to refuse his offer. So Qawool made her way  
down the rough, stony path surrounded by a squad of soldiers that towered  
over her diminutive form, practically blocking her from sight. She knew  
there was good reason for the caution. Even with their special goggles,  
there could be high-level illusionists poised to ambush them just outside of  
their view. But attacking them would expose the illusionist -- certainly a  
suicide mission on this ground swarming with Mountaineers. Would they  
sacrifice a valuable illusionist to kill one of the Great Priestesses?  
Well, maybe.  
  
"Are you tired, ma'am?" Vekshith asked. "We could hail a skiff if you  
want."  
  
Qawool sighed. That was the last straw. "Sergeant, though I may be nearly  
old enough to be your mother, my training regimen makes your boot camp look  
like nursery school. I would run there but fear you kids wouldn't be able  
to keep up."  
  
Vekshith chuckled. "Awfully sporting of you, ma'am." Other soldiers they  
passed on the road seemed to be in just as good spirits as her escorts.  
They had reason to be. They had achieved their goal with very few  
casualties at all. Nothing in the world made a soldier happier.  
  
Close to the Defiant the road got wider and flatter, but now they had to  
share it with a column of manacled prisoners being marched to the holding  
pens still being set up by the engineers. They would have their work cut  
out for them, there seemed to be thousands of Tribesmen. Most of them were  
blindfolded and manacled, with ropes securing them together. Women with  
infants and small children were being allowed to walk unencumbered, but  
always under the watchful eyes of the Mountaineers. It seemed their captors  
had extended the same courtesy to some of the elderly Tribesmen. Or maybe  
they had just run out of manacles. They did not seem to be giving anyone  
any trouble.  
  
She spotted the other two Great Priestesses waiting beside the huge bulk of  
the grounded ship. Vekshith spotted them too. "I guess this is where we  
part company, ma'am," he said as he saluted her. "Thanks for your help  
today, you probably saved a lot of us. We'll all be toasting your good  
health when we get back home."  
  
Qawool smiled. "Thank you Sergeant. Safe journey."  
  
Now that she was no longer surrounded by a wall of black-clad bodies her  
fellow priestesses spotted her. They waved to her as Qawool waved back.  
Apparently Elena and Kiku had attracted their own following. They were  
chatting amiably with some of the guards who surrounded the grounded ship.  
They too parted from their enthusiastic escorts, and the three priestesses  
met in the shadow of the looming cruiser. "You look none the worse for  
wear," Elena said. "I guess this was a cakewalk for you too." A little of  
the soldiers' victory rush seemed to have worn off on her and Kiku. But  
neither of them looked particularly happy.  
  
"I hardly saw any Phantom Tribe at all," Qawool said. "At least until I  
came out here."  
  
"Oh, there were plenty of them, trust me," Kiku said. "We couldn't get them  
processed fast enough. The troops even had Elena and me helping to tie them  
up. The Ceruleans were practically begging to surrender."  
  
Qawool's brow knit. "But I heard there was some resistance."  
  
"At the entrances, sure," Elena said. "Just a few cross bowmen. I guess  
you and Ifurita didn't even give the rest of them time to grab their  
weapons."  
  
"No illusionists?"  
  
Elena shook her head. "If there were any, they never got the chance to do  
their stuff. It looks like the smoke kept them disoriented."  
  
Qawool allowed herself to feel just a little bit relieved. Whatever the  
ultimate outcome of this war, at least the Prince's first move had been  
pulled off without a hitch. She didn't even want to think about the  
consequences had this attack turned into a disaster. "Have you seen the  
Prince yet?"  
  
"No," Kiku said, shaking her head. "We're just waiting on Ifurita, she  
should be here soon. 'Twould be easier if we're all here when we make our  
first reports to the Prince."  
  
"I don't imagine we'll have much to report that he does not already know,"  
Qawool observed. "I confess I have mixed feelings," she sighed. "I can't  
imagine this is the core of the Cerulean terrorist network. This was too  
easy."  
  
"We may have just overestimated them," Kiku suggested. "I mean, how much  
organization does it take to sneak a few bombs into a city?"  
  
Qawool nodded. "At least we've managed to secure the area with little  
bloodshed. I suppose we should feel fortunate."  
  
Elena chuckled as she looked out over the valley, still shrouded in smoke.  
  
"I would say we secured the hell out of this place."  
  
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	11. Rough Justice Ch 11

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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------  
Eleven  
------  
  
Afura Mann sat cross legged on the forest floor, trying to regain her focus.  
Tiny rays of sunlight pierced the thick canopy as dawn approached, making  
visible the ragged clouds of moisture emanating from her nose and mouth.  
Her pale face took on a peaceful visage as she attempted to clear her  
troubled mind.  
  
Damn her! What the Seven Hells was Shayla thinking, sneaking off into the  
night like that?  
  
Afura sighed, knowing she was partly to blame. Knowing Shayla all these  
years, she of all people should have predicted Shayla might pull a stunt  
like this. Her longtime friend and fellow Elder Sister had been despondent  
ever since The Mourning began, but even she was at a loss to understand just  
why.  
  
But Afura knew she couldn't dwell on that now. Shayla was out there  
somewhere wandering around by herself, most certainly in a foul mood. That  
alone was cause for concern.  
  
Afura's heart lightened as she listened to the winds. They sang their  
familiar song, comforting her as she gathered her center. The winds had  
been her friend since she was a little girl; the ethereal Intuition had  
guided her through trouble time and again. The winds would not disappoint  
her now. They would tell her what she wanted to know.  
  
Struggle. The air currents told of a struggle. And Shayla's scent was  
unmistakable.  
  
Shayla was in trouble.  
  
Afura was up with a start, sprinting off through the woods in the direction  
the Intuition had shown her. She began to fear the worst, however, as  
Shayla's scent became more and more desperate. If Shayla was trying to  
fight off a foe herself, she wasn't faring well.  
  
Afura's faith in the Intuition paid off once again. She could hear Shayla  
now, cursing and grunting as if trying to free herself from something.  
  
But from what?  
  
She slowed her pace as the sounds of the struggle faded. Afura paused at  
the edge of a little brook, looking up into the canopy to locate from where  
Shayla's ragged breathing was coming.  
  
Afura collapsed to the ground, laughing uncontrollably at the sight before  
her.  
  
"All right, all right, very funny," Shayla said. "Now how about helping me  
down from here?"  
  
Shayla swayed to and fro, hanging upside down from the top of a rockwood  
tree. A length of cord held her sidewinder yakskin boots skyward while her  
long red locks pointed straight towards the ground. It was several minutes  
before Afura could even manage to sit up, let alone answer her.  
  
"V-ver-very well then," Afura stuttered, trying to keep from  
hyperventilating.  
  
Afura couldn't recall seeing anything in her whole life funnier than seeing  
Shayla so. She savored the thought of their long walk back to Floristica.  
All that time to ponder all the future inopportune moments she would remind  
Shayla of this.  
  
She paused a moment to wipe away tears and her black bangs before setting  
about to getting Shayla down. Shayla's face glowed as red as a landing  
beacon despite her dusky skin. Her friend dangled almost fifteen feet above  
the forest floor. Maybe Shayla had accidentally stumbled onto a boar  
hunter's trapping line. Usually such a commotion would have brought the  
hunter running, demanding an apology from Shayla for scaring away his game.  
Afura marveled at the hunter's good fortune -- imposing upon Shayla in her  
current state would certainly have brought about a fiery response in more  
ways than one. Although the Roshtarian hinterlands bordering Cerulea were  
usually thick with prospectors, trappers and hermits, they hadn't seen  
another person in two days. Word of the Prince Justen's military campaign  
must have spread quickly.  
  
"Mark my words, Windy, Makoto OWES me now," Shayla fumed. "This ought to be  
worth at least a week's worth of tubers n' beast from the Palace kitchen."  
  
"By my tally now you're up to three months' worth, Shay," Afura replied  
while uncoiling her rope. "You'll get fat if you're not careful."  
  
Shayla snorted, crossing her arms indignantly even though still hanging  
upside down. "Not hardly. I've been keeping myself in shape, ya know. I'm  
just as buff now as--"  
  
"--as the last time you fell head over heels for an older man?" Afura  
interrupted. Her brown eyes sparkled as she teased her old friend. "And  
now you've fallen again, heels over your head this time!"  
  
Shayla drew her fists to her sides as Afura lashed her rope around a tree  
stump. "Damn your eyes, Afura!" she spat, green eyes flashing with anger.  
"You've got some nerve picking on me when I'm like this! Let me show you  
just how good a shape I'm really in!"  
  
Afura hoped Shayla wasn't about to do what she thought she might, but saw  
the familiar blue glow already emanating from Shayla's body. Afura shook  
her hands hurriedly to warn her friend of the pending, and certainly  
unconsidered, consequence of her actions. But her warning came too late.  
  
The cord binding Shayla's feet snapped, burned clean through by the residual  
heat marshaled by the former Great Priestess of Fire. She shrieked loudly  
before impacting the forest floor with a dull thud.  
  
Witnessing yet another of Shayla's productions would have normally sent  
Afura into another round of hysterics. But she felt a twinge of sadness  
seeing her old friend sob in an undignified heap. Afura was at her side at  
once.  
  
"Are you hurt?" Afura said before beginning to gently probing for any broken  
bones. Finding none, she helped Shayla sit up against a tree. As Shayla's  
sobbing grew louder, Afura began to grow anxious. Shayla had the  
constitution of a mountain goat, after all; a little bump on her head  
couldn't have brought this on. Maybe, Afura thought glumly, my needling  
struck a nerve this time.  
  
"An old maid like you wouldn't understand!" Shayla hollered. "I can't stand  
it anymore. I need to know what happened to him," she blubbered on, her  
voice trailing off as sobs again racked her body.  
  
Afura shushed her, holding Shayla's trembling body to her own. "It's okay,  
Shay. I'm not mad at you for sneaking off. I was only afraid you'd get  
yourself hurt. I've lost too many friends lately," she said in a husky  
voice. "I didn't want to lose you too."  
  
Neither of them said anything for some time. It all made sense now.  
Shayla, despite her being unusually thick-headed most of the time, had  
learned well the lessons her life had taught her. Afura had long suspected  
Shayla's new drinking buddy had come to mean much more to her than she cared  
to admit.  
  
Even though it had come as a shock to her, Afura was delighted at the new  
development in Shayla's life. She had never bought the old saw that like  
attracts like, but maybe there was some truth to it after all.  
  
"That idiot," Shayla sniffled at last as she dried her eyes. "I told him to  
be careful when he accepted his commission. He knew better than to wander  
off alone with one of those blue-skinned bastards. What the hell was he  
thinking?"  
  
Afura pondered the notion perhaps Shayla was right -- maybe she was an old  
maid. While Afura felt whole and fulfilled with only her meditations and  
her books, she long knew Shayla pined for a soul mate. Through several  
bizarre twists of fate, a crusty old soldier had managed to earn a special  
place in Shayla's heart.  
  
Afura recalled how her fellow Elder Sister had been quite vocal in her  
support for the punitive expedition. Perhaps that was merely Shayla's way  
of exacting revenge upon those whom she thought had taken him from her.  
Despite trying hard to not let his disappearance affect her, Afura could  
tell inside Shayla was hurting terribly. But before now, even she had been  
unaware of just how much.  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Shayla seemed to be back to her obstinate self since they broke camp that  
morning. Afura walked along behind her as they trudged over a range of  
moraines marking the border. She only half-listened to Shayla's expressing  
her displeasure with seemingly everything: the weather, her blistered feet,  
the futility of their exercise, and on and on and on. While Afura  
ordinarily might have found herself arguing with her, she figured this was  
merely Shayla's way of dealing with her own sense of loss and uncertainty.  
  
Their original route would have taken them near the Cerulean border through  
a series of swampy marshes. Afura had suggested she and Shayla instead take  
a short cut through a narrow peninsula of Cerulean territory that jutted  
deep into her home province. Afura had come to know the area well during  
her childhood wanderings; before the Treaty no nation had laid claim to it.  
But that all changed after the geynosanium deposits had been discovered.  
Between the political maneuverings in years since, the mineral deposits had  
been mostly depleted. That had not defrayed prospectors from all over El  
Hazard from congregating among the rocky outcrops, each trying to strike it  
rich by reclaiming the low-grade ore left behind. One by one the crazed  
inventions and techniques had failed, some spectacularly and tragically so.  
Eventually the prospectors had all given up and left. The only remaining  
inhabitants were said to be several small bands of Tribesmen who had kept to  
themselves after Galus' defeat. Rarely seen above the surface, they lived  
together in tunnels constructed by their ancestors long ago beneath these  
lands. Together, they eked out a living reclaiming and reselling what  
little geynosite they could.  
  
This part of the countryside still being primordial steppe, there was little  
to mark their passing into Cerulea proper save for a derelict wooden sign  
along the footpath. Afura remembered from her schoolgirl days this area was  
called Neen'dar, a name meaning "rich soil" in the Cerulean tongue.  
  
Afura looked up hearing Shayla gasp, interrupting herself in mid-rant.  
Shayla silently pointed at what had caught her attention. Far away,  
somewhere over the horizon, an immense cloud of black smoke rose into the  
sky.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Shayla and Afura stood together before the mouth of a mine shaft, its single  
entrance dwarfed by the rocky cliffs around it. They had followed a goat  
path descending the cliff, tracing the column of smoke to this place. After  
watching the fire consume the mine head for several minutes, they both  
winced as the main timbers gave way. The ground shook underneath while  
steam billowed forth from the entrance. Afura could only figure the burning  
timbers supporting the above-grade tunnels had collapsed into flooded  
tunnels below. The ground's trembling ceased as the clouds of steam  
dissipated, ending with a low rumble far beneath their feet.  
  
Afura turned toward Shayla. Her companion stood with arms akimbo, scanning  
the craters freshly blasted into the rock above the mine head before nodding  
curtly. "Yeah. I can see the residual plasma decay from here," she said,  
confirming for Afura what she had already concluded but still did not want  
to believe. "Ifurita's handiwork -- I'm sure of it," she said, drawing back  
the hood of her cloak and shaking her hair free.  
  
Afura sniffed at the air a moment before answering her. "I can smell it,"  
she said. "I am beginning to think there was more to Makoto's hunches than  
maybe we had given him credit for."  
  
Shayla grunted, conceding her point begrudgingly. Shayla had practically  
bit Makoto's head off when he had explained to them both his reservations  
about the punitive expedition. But as they continued their exploration,  
Shayla appeared less and less convinced of her position.  
  
All at once, Shayla tromped off through the tall grass. She stopped several  
yards to their left, kneeling down beside an enormous circle of scorched  
earth. "Backwash from the engines of a Roshtarian military boat. The  
expedition has definitely been here."  
  
Shayla shook her head, grunting in frustration. "I don't get it, Afura!  
You and I both know Elena and Kiku are more than capable of covering the  
expedition's tracks. Why would Qawool let them be so careless?"  
  
"Bread crumbs," Afura answered at last.  
  
"Say what?"  
  
"Sister Qawool must have been hoping someone would follow behind gather  
evidence refuting the validity of their expedition," Afura said as she  
glanced around. "She's leaving us clues, Shay, like bread crumbs in the old  
fairy tales." Afura sighed as she placed her hands on her hips. "She must  
not like this business anymore than Makoto does."  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The sun was just setting as Shayla and Afura emerged from the entrance of  
the ruined mine shaft. They had walked in as far as they dared, knowing  
Afura's ability to sense even the tiniest air currents would alert them to  
any loose or shifting rock. About a hundred yards from the entrance, the  
horizontal tunnel plummeted downward. The cables and ladders along the  
shaft suggested this was merely the foyer for a larger series of tunnels  
below ground. Water had blocked their passage, as both of them had  
expected. The drill seemed pretty routine -- flood the tunnels to force the  
Ceruleans out, bombard the tunnels carved into the rocky cliffs above to cut  
off any escape routes, call for their surrender and round them up into  
waiting transports.  
  
But neither had expected the sights they encountered.  
  
The dim glow from one of Shayla's luminescent orbs had been sufficient to  
see by. In the muddy water beneath them, they saw flotsam from the  
shattered caves far below. Furniture, spoiled food, dead animals that could  
have been pets or livestock -- these things they expected. But the sight of  
dozens of children's toys among the flotsam had even given the usually brash  
and callous Shayla pause to consider.  
  
"You'd think if the Cerulean network of spies and terrorists were all that  
the Prince made them out to be, they wouldn't have let the Alliance get the  
drop on them," Shayla said at last, plopping down roughly on a nearby rock.  
"I mean, look at this place!" she cried, stretching her arms out as she  
looked all round them. "No sign of any struggle, the only plasma discharges  
I can find residue from all have Roshtarian signatures... it's as though  
Justen's boats dropped from the sky and swallowed up everyone in sight!"  
  
Afura could only nod pensively, lost in her own thoughts. She figured this  
scene was playing itself out elsewhere in Cerulea but did not know where.  
Ifurita had seen to it that none outside her inner circle had been privy to  
exactly where the expedition was headed. "For security reasons," the  
Queen's Champion had told her coolly.  
  
She thought they might get lucky again and stumble upon another destroyed  
mine, but figured it would have to wait for morning. "We're losing our  
daylight, Shay. I suggest we make camp tonight on the Roshtarian side of  
the border. We should--"  
  
Afura's voice trailed off as her eyes followed where Shayla glowered behind  
them. What appeared to be a pair of Tribe militiamen stood about fifty feet  
away, drawing a bead on the both of them with their light crossbows. She  
silently cursed herself for her carelessness.  
  
Apparently the expedition missed a few, she thought ruefully.  
  
"You-a hold there right, yeh! We to yew must talk," one of them bellowed in  
a thick accent.  
  
Afura looked toward Shayla, locking eyes with her as they silently argued.  
Her companion was twitching her eyebrows, signaling she thought they could  
take them. Afura rolled her eyes at Shayla disgustedly, silently reminding  
her they had given up their Lamps years ago. Sure they had some of their  
residual powers, but enough to fend off a pair of armed militiamen?  
  
Shayla nodded, blinking twice. Afura closed her eyes tightly, just like  
they had practiced.  
  
The bright flash permeated Afura's eyelids, making her vision spotty when  
she looked again. But the militiamen had dropped their bows as they had  
collapsed to the ground. They writhed about, clutching at their eyes as  
they moaned painfully.  
  
Afura smiled. "You go girl," she yelled to Shayla as they sprinted toward  
the rock face. Knowing they needed to find cover gave her an idea.  
  
With a wave of her hand, Afura sent an air current whipping along the  
surface of the cliff, then another. Her hearing detected the unmistakable  
sound of an eddy current about fifteen yards to their left. Where there was  
an eddy in the rock face, there was likely a place to hide. She silently  
prayed for such as she waved to Shayla to follow her. Without the Lamp even  
these cheap parlor tricks sapped her strength tremendously.  
  
They met several yards inside the mouth of the cave a moment later. Both  
panted while they tried to get their breathing under control. Afura glanced  
over to see the militiamen unsteadily get to their feet again before the two  
of them ducked into the cave.  
  
"What the Seven Hells was that all about?" Shayla wheezed at last.  
  
"I'm not really sure," Afura replied. While she had been surprised the  
Expedition had left no sentries, she had hardly anticipated being drawn on  
by Ceruleans. She wasn't sure whether these two had recognized them for who  
they were or had simply been trying to ward off looters.  
  
"We've gotta get out of here before they try to--" was all Shayla managed to  
say before an explosion rocked the cavern.  
  
Afura prayed the cavern roof would hold up while covering her head to  
protect them from the pieces of dirt and rock that showered down on them.  
"Oh, shit," she heard Shayla sputter.  
  
"Do I want to know what that was?" Afura said, her eyes uselessly scanning  
the darkness.  
  
"No, Windy, you don't," Shayla replied curtly as a small fireball began  
glowing dimly above her palm. "I'm pretty sure our friends out there blew  
the damn entrance. We'll have to find another way out of here."  
  
"I'm afraid a suitable explanation will have to wait, Shayla-Shayla. I need  
your help and we haven't much time."  
  
They both gasped and turned toward the voice that had come from behind them.  
"B-but I th-thought...th-that y-you--" was all Afura could stammer as Shayla  
stood speechless. She barely had enough time to make out the stranger's  
face before darkness enveloped them once again.  
  
Shayla had fainted.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	12. Rough Justice Ch 12

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------  
Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
------  
Twelve  
------  
  
Nanami laughed lightly. "You're kidding me! You mean they really make you  
do that? I had no idea!"  
  
"On my honor, ma'am," the smiling guard said. "Once an hour, me and the  
sergeant here gotta hold that big old curtain up high and carry it from one  
end of the cell block to the other. I guess we're looking to see if it runs  
into any invisible people what might be hiding in here."  
  
Nanami leaned back from where she was standing by the sergeant's desk and  
looked down the corridor. "Well, it's a bit dark but I'm pretty sure there  
are no invisible people hiding here."  
  
The guard and the sergeant both chuckled. "Right kind of you to check for  
us," the sergeant kidded, allowing them all to share another good laugh.  
They had been entertaining themselves for almost an hour at the expense of  
the paranoid higher-ups who handed down all those silly orders to the Palace  
guards.  
  
"At least you can see the Tribesmen without having to wear them funny  
goggles the Mountain Legion has, ma'am. Make's 'em look like frogs, that's  
no joke!"  
  
"You know, they've got a couple of those uppity Mountaineer guys stationed  
at the murder holes at all the entrances," the sergeant said in a soft,  
conspiratorial tone. "Peeping through that little window all day long, and  
with those masks on too. They'd be lucky to see an army marching by!"  
  
The guard sniffed. "Serves 'em right, actin' all high-and-mighty."  
  
Nanami had known that Justen's new elite unit was not popular with the  
Roshtarian Army's rank-and-file, and this confirmed that the enmity extended  
to the Palace guards. "I know what you mean. They're so rude and so full  
of themselves, aren't they? It's very unprofessional, if you ask me.  
They're just not on the same level as the Palace Guard at all."  
  
"Nice of you to say, ma'am," the sergeant said, grinning. "I just hope  
they're as tough as everyone says they are. If they don't give a good  
accounting of themselves, the Champion will be busting some heads, that's  
certain." His face fell a bit and some of the awkwardness that Nanami had  
been trying so hard to disperse suddenly returned. Both of them had been  
very surprised to see her waltz through the doorway full of smiles and light  
banter. But she was on a first-name basis with many of the guards, back  
from her days of being the Palace Eyes, so it had taken very little time to  
break the ice.  
  
"Well still, I'm glad it's you and not them watching over my husband,"  
Nanami said sweetly, judging there was no point in dancing around the issue  
now. "It makes me feel so much better, you know?"  
  
"Shevlin's in good hands, don't you worry now," the sergeant said, obviously  
relieved that his faux pas had been overlooked. "Speaking o' which, I know  
you're anxious to see him an' I guess it's okay to let you in early, but..."  
He paused and pointed toward the basket Nanami had set down on his desk.  
"That'll have to stay. Sorry, but they're really strict about not taking  
anything into the cell block."  
  
"Oh no, don't worry about that," Nanami said brightly, pushing the basket  
closer to him. "I know I can't bring anything to eat for Shevlin. I  
brought this for you."  
  
The sergeant was taken aback. "Er... that's right kind of ye, milady."  
  
"Don't mention it. It's nothing much, but please enjoy." The sergeant's  
ill-concealed embarrassment came out as just an incoherent mumble. "Uh,  
yeah. Say, Koren, why don't you go escort Lady Nanami to Shevlin's cell and  
supervise the visit for us?"  
  
Nanami clapped her hands together and bowed in supplication. "I'd be ever  
so grateful if you could give us some time alone, just a little bit,  
please?" She smiled and batted her eyes.  
  
The sergeant looked as if Nanami had just asked which testicle he would like  
to have removed. "Well, strictly speaking it's against regs..."  
  
"Just a little while, I promise," Nanami said, winking. "Nobody will ever  
know."  
  
"Well, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt," he replied resignedly. "Koren, you can  
lock the door behind Lady Nanami and give them a bit of time, eh? Off with  
you, then."  
  
"Sure, sarge. Right this way, ma'am." Koren pulled a ring of keys off its  
hook on the wall and proceeded down the passage.  
  
"Thank you ever so much," Nanami said to the sergeant in a little tiny  
voice, blowing him a kiss, and pulling up beside Koren.  
  
Still got the touch, she thought.  
  
Koren approached one of the massive steel doors that lined the dark  
corridor, but hesitated. "Uh, the walls are pretty thick here but we can't  
have no untoward disturbances or nothing so to speak, beggin' yer pardon and  
all."  
  
Nanami smiled brightly. "Don't worry, we'll behave ourselves."  
  
"R-Right." Koren fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door. Then he  
seemed to remember he was supposed to announce himself and slid open the  
little viewing window. "Hey Shevlin, we got a visitor for you."  
  
"Have you brought me a brown-eyed vision of loveliness?" the dulcet voice  
asked. Nanami felt like she was melting.  
  
Oh Shevlin...  
  
"Oh yeah. Uh, I mean yes, your wife is here." He swung the door open and  
stepped aside for Nanami. "I'll come fetch you--"  
  
Nanami stepped up to him and squeezed his arm. "Be a dear and come get me  
in an hour, okay?"  
  
"Uh..." But Nanami was already through the door and in her husband's arms,  
squeezing him tight enough to hurt. She pulled him down into a hard kiss  
and held him close. She was not even aware of the door being closed and  
locked behind her about as quietly as a big iron door could be closed and  
locked.  
  
When she let him come up for air Shevlin smiled down at her and stroked her  
face. "What a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."  
  
"I called in a favor," Nanami said simply. Technically she wasn't supposed  
to be let in here until then. But she figured it would be easy to  
smooth-talk her way into a private meeting if they weren't expecting her,  
and there were no other visitors being processed. She snuggled up close  
again, nestling her head under his chin. "Are they treating you okay? You  
seem thinner, are you getting enough to eat? Don't lie to me."  
  
"I may get fat if they keep feeding me like they have been. Leftovers from  
the royal dinner, no less. Is that also a favor you pulled in?"  
  
"No, just my years as the Palace Eyes paying off. I've got lots of friends  
among the guards."  
  
"I know, they all brag about knowing Lady Nanami."  
  
"And Londs helps too. I was awful to him, but I know he hates what they're  
doing to you." She looked up into his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
He kissed her gently. "Just a little bored. I would even welcome another  
interrogation to help pass the time."  
  
Nanami sniffed and wiped a tear away. "Not funny." But she wanted a more  
serious kiss and gave him one. It lasted a good deal longer. "I've missed  
you," she whimpered. She edged him over to the cot and worked her hands  
under his shirt.  
  
Somehow he managed to get his mouth free. He was breathing as heavily as  
she was now. "Honey, the guard--"  
  
"Won't be back for an hour," she breathed.  
  
"Clever girl," he said quickly between kisses. "How did you manage that?"  
  
"Just asked, that's all."  
  
"He will probably look in on us you know."  
  
"Koren's sweet, I know him from way back. I wouldn't mind giving him a  
show."  
  
"Naughty girl," he said mildly. His hands were exploring his wife's body  
more aggressively. "An exhibitionist, on top of everything else."  
  
"I warned you about Earth girls before we were married, so no complaints."  
  
"No, no complaints at all." He coaxed her down to the cot, and settled down  
beside her. "Not much room here."  
  
"That's okay. I want you close." They held each other gently, moving along  
more slowly now. The heat of their long-anticipated reunion had been driven  
by anxiety as much as desire. Now resting in Shevlin's arms, Nanami's  
urgency was tempered by the comfort of his familiar touch.  
  
With Shevlin's help Nanami shed her blouse. He pulled her closer, gently  
stroking her back just the way she liked. "How are things at the  
restaurant?"  
  
"God, you would want to know about that!" she said in a husky voice. "Get  
serious here would you? Oh...!"  
  
"Was that serious enough for you?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," she purred.  
  
"Seriously, I want to know. Has there been any trouble?"  
  
"No, just trying to get by with one less pair of hands. I hired a new temp  
day before yesterday. Not too bright, but a hard worker and pretty nice.  
May have her taking orders next week."  
  
"Have they had any luck finding out who bombed the amphitheater?"  
  
She looked in his eyes. "They really haven't told you anything?"  
  
"Nope. I'm just a little mushroom, kept in the dark and fed on sh--"  
  
"They found something at the site, something from the Phantom Tribe in  
Cerulea."  
  
"Cerulea? They're just a step away from becoming part of the Alliance.  
There's a Roshtarian garrison there."  
  
"There's a whole legion and fleet of ships there now, trying to hunt down  
the terrorists."  
  
"So what is it they found?"  
  
"Makoto said it was the staff of a Cerulean priestess. They figure she was  
caught when one of the bombs went off prematurely."  
  
"Prematurely? Did he say what kind of bombs they were?"  
  
"Oh, you!" she pouted. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. You know I don't  
remember stuff like that."  
  
"Try."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Uh huh. Would this stimulate your memory?"  
  
"Oh!" She laughed, and then squealed. "Stop that! I mean it!"  
  
"What kind of bombs?"  
  
"Stop! Oh God okay I remember, something about black powder, ceramic casing  
and eye-nite-ro--EEK! Stop it!"  
  
"Initrotolulene?"  
  
"Yes, yes, that's it!" Nanami squealed. "Enough already!"  
  
He stopped tickling her and went back to what he had been doing without  
missing a beat.  
  
"Black powder, ceramic, and initrotolulene? You're sure?"  
  
"Yes," Nanami panted, "I'm so bloody sure it hurts."  
  
Nanami noticed Shevlin's face screwed up in puzzlement all at once. "Then  
it wasn't Ceruleans," he said with conviction. "It wasn't any Phantom  
Tribe, in fact. Not even a schoolgirl making a firecracker would mix black  
powder and initro like that. It's simply too unpredictable. No wonder it  
went off prematurely. Even if the Ceruleans didn't have access to proper  
tools there are a dozen readily available materials that would combine to  
create a safer explosive. My people owe our very survival to our ability to  
safely mine the earth, you know. Children learn to make pack explosives  
that only detonate when they're supposed to almost as soon as they learn to  
walk. Roshtarian intelligence should know that by now. I've certainly told  
them enough times. I'm surprised Makoto wasn't at all suspicious."  
  
"Well, they figure maybe the Ceruleans were trying to make it look like  
somebody else did it."  
  
"That doesn't explain the premature explosion."  
  
"You're preaching to the choir, dear."  
  
"Was I preaching?" he quipped. "I don't preach, do I?"  
  
"No, love, you don't."  
  
Nanami pushed Shevlin on his back and swung a leg over him, sitting up and  
straddling him. She pressed a hand down on his chest and leaned over him.  
Her other hand held her last piece of clothing out at arms length, and she  
let it drop to the floor.  
  
"But sometimes you talk too much."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	13. Rough Justice Ch 13

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------  
Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
--------  
Thirteen  
--------  
  
Makoto felt all eyes upon him as he entered the room.  
  
The executive officer of Her Majesty's Engineers stood behind a table in one  
of the Quonset huts hastily erected in the bowl of the amphitheater. With  
the rainy season rapidly approaching and the investigation into the attacks  
pending, the brass conceded that more permanent shelter should be available  
at the site for the field personnel. This particular one had served as  
Traugot's field office during his visits, which given his continuing duties  
as Dean of the Royal Academy were usually limited to once-daily briefings.  
  
Work had continued around the clock since after the disaster. In fact,  
scores of engineers, technicians, scientists and support personnel could be  
heard outside attending to the dozens of simultaneous evidence collection  
and analysis activities.  
  
Makoto had noticed the tired looks on many engineers' faces on the way here.  
Maybe they wanted to get back to the business of building bridges and roads  
and canals. He could hardly blame them, what with every Roshtarian wanting  
to put what happened here behind them. Inconsistencies in their findings,  
however, kept popping up like toadstools after a spring rain.  
  
Most of these troops were still here at his insistence, having personally  
pleaded with Queen Rune to continue the investigation. Privately Traugot  
had admitted a few of his own doubts about what had happened here and how  
the tragedy had come to pass. In fact, Traugot himself had been on site for  
the better part of the day, trying to make sense of the various bits of  
evidence and information the crews had uncovered thus far. Makoto knew  
Traugot wouldn't have sent for him were not for new information his friends  
must have believed Makoto needed to know.  
  
From the look Lieutenant Jizar was giving him, Makoto thought sure the man  
didn't need the overtime. "My lord," he said curtly.  
  
"Sorry for the short notice, Mack," Traugot said from where he was seated on  
a stool in front to the long examining table. He motioned for Makoto to  
take the seat beside him before turning around to face the slate again.  
"Please continue, Lieutenant."  
  
Jizar cleared his throat before resuming his presentation. Given his  
hunched over posture as he stood at the slate, Makoto figured the man hadn't  
been sleeping much of late. He knew the feeling.  
  
"On the board is a diagram showing the corridors beneath the amphitheater,"  
he said, sweeping his hand toward the board. "The ones outlined in red  
turned up some potentially significant findings during our sweep."  
  
The lieutenant paused a moment, grunting as he lifted a large chunk of  
plaster from the floor onto the examining table. He set it down with a dull  
thud. It must have been heavy, Makoto noted, for he could feel the  
vibration even while sitting on the stool.  
  
"The amphitheater was built upon a network of catacombs beneath the old city  
where our ancestors sought shelter at the conclusion of the Holy Wars," he  
said. "These served us well during the construction of this very  
amphitheater, when they were used to help transport materials to the job  
site. Many of them are still in place today for use as access corridors."  
  
"And that's where the smudge pots were found, correct?" Makoto inquired,  
already knowing the answer.  
  
"Indeed, Lord Mizuhara. This is a plaster impression of damage found in  
numerous locations in the tunnels indicated in red. Each damaged stone in  
question was discovered exactly the same height from the floor on every  
inside corner in these three tunnels," Jizar said, indicating the gouge in  
the plaster. "Notice that each tunnel leads directly to the sites where the  
smudge pots were found. Curiously, the damage was limited to only these  
three corridors."  
  
His eyes met Makoto's as he continued. "To your credit, my lord, we likely  
wouldn't have even noticed them had we been recalled upon the Champion's  
original schedule. Given the last several days to study the local geology  
and inspect the damage closer, we have concluded these were the three  
tunnels used by the perpetrators to place the smudge pots beneath the  
amphitheater."  
  
Makoto set his elbow on the tabletop and brought his chin to rest upon his  
fist. "Couldn't that damage have been due to the construction vehicles when  
the amphitheater was first built?"  
  
"We had suggested same, my lord. According to the ancient texts, the  
catacombs were formed originally by a delta at the mouth of the Holy River  
of God before The Holy War. During the cataclysmic final battles of that  
war, the city standing where Floristica stands today was incinerated. The  
histories do not indicate just what weapons were used, but suggest the  
resulting heat was intense enough in many places to change the river silt  
into hard rock.  
  
"My father showed me engravings created while the amphitheater was being  
constructed, my lord. Most of the equipment depicted would have been  
neither large enough nor heavy enough to chip the rock in that way."  
  
"So what equipment do you believe responsible?" Traugot asked.  
  
"Rock sleds, perhaps."  
  
"Rock sleds?" Makoto asked, suddenly confused.  
  
Jizar held up another engraving, showing what appeared to be a large sled on  
crawler treads. "This is a rendering of one. They derive power from  
low-yield reactors to engage the drive mechanisms. But we in the Engineer  
Corps wouldn't use them in such close quarters due to their bulkiness."  
  
Makoto figured he knew where this was going. "I'm guessing the Ceruleans do  
then," he said solemnly.  
  
"Correct again, my lord. But there's more."  
  
After pushing the plaster mold to one corner of the examining table, Jizar  
unrolled a large scroll. On it were several plan views and elevations of  
different types of sleds. Makoto noted several red circles marked on the  
drawings with several notes written in the margins. Pulling a pencil out  
from underneath his baggy cap, he continued his presentation by talking more  
to the drawing than to either of them.  
  
"Note here the motor horsepower requirements and the sled capacities," he  
said, pausing again to silently mouth out some of the notes he was trying to  
read upside down. "We estimated the weight of one fully-loaded smudge pot  
after close examination of their remains. We're convinced a sled with  
motors large enough to carry such a load could not have possibly negotiated  
these narrow tunnels."  
  
Neither Makoto nor Traugot said anything for several minutes. "Could the  
sleds have been pushed by hand?" Makoto asked at last.  
  
"Unlikely. We estimate they weighed about two tons apiece. And even if  
there were enough men available to push the sled, they certainly could not  
have damaged the corner walls so deeply."  
  
"And you have concluded these sleds were employed to place the smudge pots?"  
  
Jizar removed his cap long enough to run a hand tiredly through his hair.  
"Based on the evidence we have, Lord Mizuhara, yes we do. Her Majesty's  
Engineers want to do everything we can to prevent this tragedy from  
repeating itself. So we needed to ascertain how our antagonists pulled off  
their operation. It is possible the Ceruleans used some other power source,  
but we..."  
  
He cleared his throat, fidgeting under Makoto's withering stare. "I mean,  
it is possible the perpetrators used some other means to propel the sleds.  
If we postulate the Ceruleans were involved, using their knowledge of  
ancient technologies to build smaller motors would fit their modus operandi.  
However, we have yet to uncover evidence to support such a theory."  
  
"Is that all, Lieutenant?"  
  
"There was one more item my Captain thought you should know, my lords. He  
served with Commander Rilikan in Her Majesty's Ordinance back in the day.  
Cap seemed surprised upon examining the remains of the pots and the  
detonation mechanisms. While traces of initrotolulene were unmistakable,  
there was far less damage than he expected. His theory is an initrotolulene  
primer charge was used to detonate the main charges of ceramic-encased black  
powder nodules -- the same ones we found the remains of earlier. Quite a  
primitive technique, in fact. Curious given that Commander Rilikan in  
several of his dispatches noted how impressed he was with Cerulean mining  
techniques, specifically their ability to use, construct and deploy  
technologically-advanced explosives..."  
  
Jizar's voice trailed off as he began scratching nervously at the back of  
his neck.  
  
Makoto crossed his arms across his chest. "Is there something we should  
know, Lieutenant?"  
  
"Lord Mizuhara, I'm puzzled. I would have thought you would have known all  
this by now. We submitted our report last week, after all. You really  
haven't seen it yet?"  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Spill it."  
  
"Spill what?"  
  
"Come off it, Mack. We've kept each other up all night countless times  
before debating our conflicting theories on Hazardian science and now you  
clam up? You haven't said hardly a word since we dismissed Lieutenant  
Jizar."  
  
"Oh," Makoto said weakly. "Sorry. I've had a lot on my mind."  
  
Traugot patted his old friend on the back as they walked along. "I know, my  
friend, I know. Fine time for a breakdown in the chain of command to  
manifest itself."  
  
"This isn't a bureaucratic oversight," Makoto mumbled.  
  
"What do you mean, Mack?" Traugot asked him, stopping suddenly.  
  
"I mean someone's got it in for us, Vern!" Makoto spat back. "That's the  
only explanation I can come up with. This is insane!"  
  
"Whoa there, boss," Traugot said, holding up his hands. "The Palace will  
think you're delusional if you start spouting off conspiracy theories like  
that."  
  
"Would you stop and think for a minute?" Makoto hollered, waving his arms.  
"Who does Captain Amandani report to?"  
  
Traugot thought for a moment. "Normally to the Chief Engineer of the Army."  
  
"Right. Jurian. Who reports to Interior Minister Keanori--"  
  
"--who is one of al-Farsi's appointees."  
  
"See a pattern here?"  
  
"You would have me believe someone deliberately sat on that report to keep  
it out of our hands?" Traugot asked suspiciously.  
  
"Do you have any other explanation, Vern? That's the third time in two  
weeks! First it was the forensics report, then it was the chemical  
analysis, now the engineer's findings. See a pattern here?"  
  
"Even if I do that alone proves nothing, Mack. What could possibly be their  
motive?"  
  
"Beats the hell out of me, Vern. All I know is that the right hand  
seemingly doesn't know what the left is doing. And we seem to be the ones  
out in the cold," Makoto said while clutching in frustration at the air  
between them. "Don't you find it the least bit suspicious we're also the  
only public officials advocating restraint in our response?"  
  
Makoto snorted disgustedly before stomping off down the street, not  
bothering to await an answer.  
  
"Hey, Mack, calm down," Traugot said as he caught Makoto up. "What's your  
hurry anyway?"  
  
Makoto slowed his pace somewhat but continued in the direction of the  
Palace. "I'm just afraid that Ifurita is... no, that *we* are playing  
somebody else's game," he said, shaking his head as he walked. "But for the  
life of me I can't figure who's pulling the damn strings!"  
  
The two men said nothing for several blocks as they walked along. "Ah,  
Makoto," Traugot said at last as he stopped on a street corner. "The lab is  
this way."  
  
Makoto waved back from several yards away. "No, you go on ahead, Vern.  
There's someone I need to talk to."  
  
Traugot nodded and continued on his way. Makoto knew where he could find  
him later if need be. Right now he felt needed to talk to Nanami. With all  
her contacts within the Palace Guard, maybe she knew things he needed to  
know. To Makoto, someone in the bureaucracy was seemingly stifling any  
course away from a full-scale war.  
  
Makoto had not seen Nanami since she had stormed out of Londs' office last  
week. She would certainly have cooled off by now, he thought. He felt it  
was high time they tried to patch things up.  
  
Nanami was one of a select group of people in the city whom Makoto trusted  
explicitly. And with the revelation of everyone else's conflicting  
loyalties he was desperate to talk to somebody he could depend upon to be  
discreet.  
  
He noted the height of the moon, the darkness of the sky -- just about  
closing time. Nanami would shanghai him into helping close up, she would  
rant and rave the whole while, they would both feel better.  
  
But then he rounded the corner onto Palace Way. The crowd down the street  
puzzled him at first. Panic set in when he saw the smoke, sending him into  
full gallop.  
  
The hose cart filled the street while a press of bystanders was keeping a  
respectful distance to one side. A hose handler on the cart's roof directed  
a stream of water through one of the broken front windows of Nanami's  
restaurant. Black smoke billowed from every window and door in the  
building.  
  
Makoto tore his way to the front of the crowd, earning curses and shoves  
from street urchins and silk-clad merchants alike. At length people began  
shuffling out of his way. Young people were intimidated by Makoto's wild  
eyes and his badge of office; the old folks moved aside out of respect to a  
hero of the Bugrom War.  
  
He spotted her finally as he broke through the crowd. "Nanami!" he cried  
out without thinking.  
  
She looked up from where she was standing near the cart across the street  
from her restaurant. Asdic and Jilyn were with her, apparently offering  
their comfort. "Lord Makoto!" Jilyn cried out upon seeing him with the only  
voice in Floristica that could be heard across four square blocks. The  
cross-looking hose handler approaching Makoto paused momentarily upon  
hearing her. The man looked over his shoulder at Asdic as he beckoned  
Makoto to approach. Nodding curtly, the hose handler indicated them to  
Makoto with his thumb. "Stay out of the way," he said, granting Makoto  
permission to proceed.  
  
"Thank you." Makoto trotted over to where Nanami stood between the old  
merchant and his wife. To him, the two of them looked like parents hovering  
over a frightened child.  
  
"Lord Makoto, it's just awful!" Jilyn wailed, her beefy arm pulling Nanami  
closer. "One of the street children saw the whole thing! There were four  
men in masks! They just ran up the street, threw fire-bombs through the  
windows and ran off! Just look at poor Nanami, covered in soot and all!  
She barely got everyone out in time, she was the last one out. I saw it  
myself! I was here five minutes before the fire cart arrived, five minutes  
I tell you! What are we paying taxes for, I ask you? And what sort of  
people would do something like this? Stupid young ruffians, that's who!  
Nanami and Shevlin were pillars in our community since before they were  
born, I'd wager! When the police find them I hope they get shipped off to  
the penal colony in the Desert of Bleached White Bones! That's where they  
belong!"  
  
Asdic slipped his own arm behind his wife's, distracting her just long  
enough for Makoto to get a word in edgewise. "Nanami, are you okay?"  
  
She nodded silently. She did not look at him; her sullen face was fixed  
instead on her burning home. Makoto looked also toward the restaurant. He  
could see no flames, and the smoke was now coming mostly out of the front  
windows. Another hose handler directed water into the front entrance. At  
least it looked like they got here in time to stop the fire from spreading,  
Makoto thought, allowing himself to feel slightly relieved. Cleanup would  
take a lot of work, but it was clear the place was not a complete loss. Her  
tiny little café had become a household name in Floristica as well as an  
irreplaceable part of Nanami's life. Seeing her lose it entirely would have  
broken his heart.  
  
"Was anybody hurt?" Makoto stammered, not really sure what else to say.  
  
"The new girl who started last week collapsed after Nanami helped her get  
out," Jilyn said in rapid-fire fashion. "The medics took her away, but told  
us she's going to be okay. We thought it might be more of that awful gas  
from at the amphitheater, but they said it couldn't be."  
  
Of course it wasn't, he thought darkly. Nanami would surely be dead now if  
it had.  
  
"Nan, I..."  
  
God I'm pathetic, Makoto thought as he fished desperately for the right  
words to say.  
  
"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"  
  
His blood froze as Nanami's cold, angry eyes fixed themselves upon him.  
  
"Yeah. Give a message to Londs for me. Tell him 'keep up the good work.'"  
  
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	14. Rough Justice Ch 14

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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Fourteen  
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Traugot did most of his best thinking between dawn and breakfast. Since  
becoming Dean of the Royal Academy, early morn was about the only time he  
had to sit down and think quietly. The Dean's office and quarters took up  
the entire top floor of the Academy's central tower. On three sides its  
huge open arched windows afforded a breathtaking view of the city of  
Floristica. But a small chair on the verandah afforded the Dean a  
breathtaking view of the rising sun as it crested the tree-covered horizon;  
often the Dean began his day right here.  
  
Today was no exception.  
  
He found himself enjoying the guilty pleasure of loafing, though he knew he  
needed to be working on just how to approach the Queen concerning the  
missing reports. His quandary, however, involved just *what* it was he  
would tell her. His years as an academic and then as an administrator had  
taught him to never attribute to malice what could adequately be accounted  
for by incompetence. But even the often breathtaking stupidity of Palace  
yes-men could only account for so much. There was much to consider,  
certainly, though Traugot's attention lay elsewhere at the moment.  
  
At heart, Traugot was a tinkerer like Lord Mizuhara. He knew he would have  
never attained his position and status without developing political savvy,  
though given the choice he would much rather tackle mechanical problems.  
Like how two ton smudge pots could have been placed without mechanized  
assistance, for example.  
  
With the sun now peeking over the horizon, Traugot found himself wandering  
back to the enormous desk that was the centerpiece of his office. Its  
hardwood top was largely covered by a map of the catacombs below the  
amphitheater and the improvised paperweights holding down each corner.  
Scattered all around were many pages worth of thumbnail sketches and  
scribbled calculations left over from his late-night musings. He looked  
down at his work and shook his head.  
  
"Damn it all. How did you do it? How did you bastards do it?"  
  
He started hearing his door being opened. It was far too early for his  
secretary to come with his breakfast. His eyes widened as he recognized the  
interloper into his private space.  
  
"Makoto?"  
  
"Hi Vern," he replied simply as he walked unsteadily across the office  
floor. Traugot's frown deepened. Makoto did not seem to be very steady on  
his feet at all. In fact, he was still wearing the same clothes he wore  
yesterday.  
  
Traugot quickly walked around the desk and towards his friend. Though his  
robes were wrinkled enough to suggest he might have slept in those clothes,  
his bloodshot eyes told Traugot Makoto had gotten no sleep at all.  
  
"Mack, are you okay? Whoah!" He quickly reached out to steady Makoto as he  
stumbled. "What happened to you? Have you been drinking?"  
  
"No," Makoto said woodenly. "But I wouldn't mind a drink, thanks."  
  
"At this hour of the morning? Come on, sit down." He guided Makoto to one  
of the big leather chairs and eased him down into it. "Have you even been  
home?"  
  
"Briefly. Spent most of the night at Nanami's. Or outside it, rather.  
It's boarded up now, on account of the fire."  
  
Traugot fell silent as he stared dumbfounded. "What fire?" he managed after  
nearly a minute.  
  
"Some kids threw fire-bombs through the window."  
  
"Dear Gods," Traugot breathed, fearing the worst. "Tell me."  
  
Makoto shook his head. "Nanami's fine. Nobody was hurt. She's staying  
with Asdic and Jilyn."  
  
"Thank goodness for that," he said with relief. "Hells, what a thing to  
happen, on top of everything else. No wonder you're wiped out. I'll tell  
the servants to draw some tea."  
  
"Already on the way."  
  
Traugot smiled. Of course, when the night guard admitted somebody to the  
Dean's office this early, they would likely be in need of some strong brew.  
He went to sit down in the chair next to Makoto's. "I'm surprised you  
didn't drag her back to the Palace for safe keeping."  
  
Makoto laughed bitterly. "Could you imagine me suggesting such a thing  
after all that's happened? She would have clobbered me for sure."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
"She practically ignored me. But she did tell me one thing that I think  
you'll find interesting."  
  
Traugot sighed. "Mack, you should be in bed. This could have waited."  
  
"It's something she heard from Shevlin," Makoto said, ignoring him. "He  
said the Phantom Tribe would never combine initrotolulene with black powder.  
It's too unstable."  
  
Traugot was surprised; he had been expecting to hear more of Makoto's  
conspiracy theories. "We know it's unstable. That's probably why the first  
bomb--"  
  
"Exploded prematurely?" Makoto snapped. "Taking their spiritual leader  
along with it, blowing her to pieces, leaving nothing but her broken staff  
behind? Damn it Vern, can't you see this makes no sense at all? They wrote  
the book on mining and explosives! Making a mistake like that, well...it's  
just...inconceivable!"  
  
"Easy, Mack," Traugot said gently, raising his hand for peace. Makoto  
slumped down in his seat, apparently trying to regain his composure as he  
covered his face with one hand.  
  
Traugot cursed under his breath as the servant girl rung the doorbell at  
that exact moment. He mumbled his thanks as he took the tray and the  
servant silently excused herself. After Traugot poured for both of them,  
they sat without speaking as they sipped their hot tea.  
  
"You know, I think I've figured it out," Makoto said at last as he stared  
blankly across the room. "In the end, it's not about the facts and figures  
at all. It's about trust, really. Who you trust, what part of yourself you  
trust."  
  
Makoto paused a moment as he set his cup down on the table. "It's a very  
fragile thing, like a house of cards," he said as he looked Traugot straight  
in the eye. "Nanami trusts her anger more than she trusts me. Rune trusts  
her fear more than she trusts me. Ifurita trusts her grief more than she  
trusts me. That's why it's all falling apart."  
  
"What do you trust, Makoto?" Traugot asked.  
  
Makoto stared angrily at Traugot, obviously taken aback by his question.  
  
"I trust my friends," he replied, smiling wanly. "Do you remember that game  
I told you about?"  
  
"The one where you toss little throwing-darts at a target?"  
  
"Right. Well..." Makoto reached into one pocket and produced a little  
cloth bundle. "Somebody was getting some target-practice on my desk last  
night," he said as he began to unwrap it.  
  
Traugot's eyes went wide as he picked up the object Makoto had placed on the  
table. "This is a quarrel for a hand-crossbow! What is all this about?"  
  
But Makoto said nothing as he sat there, lip curled into a silly, smug grin.  
Traugot knew that look. Makoto wasn't going to say any more until Traugot  
looked closer at what he had given him. Looking down, he noticed the note  
that was wrapped around the shaft. Carefully, Traugot unrolled it and read  
it aloud.  
  
"Lord Mizuhara, we hope this message finds you well. A week after entering  
Cerulean territory, we found the remains of a geynosanium mine destroyed by  
the Roshtarian offensive. It is clear that there was nothing here that  
could resist the combined might of the Champion, the Holy Elemental  
Priestesses and the Roshtarian task force. More interesting is the story we  
heard from local farmers who have had friendly relations with the Cerulean  
Tribesmen. Two days before the tragedy in Floristica, Tribesmen had come  
from their caves inquiring after their high priestess Laria, who had  
apparently gone missing for reasons unknown. We are attempting to find  
corroboration of this story, and will relay another message when we have  
more to report. In holy servitude of the Goddesses of Wind and Fire, we are  
Afura Mann and Shayla-Shayla."  
  
Traugot looked up at Makoto. "Mack, tell me this is some sort of joke."  
  
"No, where I'm from we call this a bulls-eye."  
  
Traugot stood up, his fist clenched furiously at his sides. "Good Gods, you  
actually sent them on this errand? Do you have any idea how much trouble  
you could all get into?" He began to pace the floor and pull at his face.  
"Just off the top of my head I can think of four different charges that  
would get you locked up!"  
  
"Only four?"  
  
"I'm serious!"  
  
"Damn you, Vern, so am I!" Makoto shouted back, nostrils flaring as he stood  
to face him. "Were you even paying attention to what you read?" His face  
fell and he suddenly seemed ready to collapse. "Yes, of course you were,"  
he said wearily as he plunked down into the chair again.  
  
"Mack, I know perfectly well how significant this is. But what would you  
have me do? Go show this to the Queen? Tell her that operatives of Mount  
Muldoon sent a secret message to your Palace apartment? By crossbow-bolt no  
less? Right when there's a critical military alliance between us and Mount  
Muldoon? This is madness!"  
  
Makoto closed his eyes and began chuckling softly. "How Fujisawa-sensei  
would laugh at me if he saw me now," he said ruefully. "I ask two old  
friends to go risk their lives in a land I've never even seen to check up on  
my wife and tell me how badly she's messing things up -- all in secret, of  
course. And I've got the bleeding gall to sit here and talk about trust."  
  
Traugot regarded him more soberly. "Is this what you mean by a collapsing  
house of cards?"  
  
"This would never have happened to Sensei and Miz," Makoto replied, turning  
to stare out a window. "They knew when to trust people. They just knew."  
  
Traugot smiled. "Except when Lord Fujisawa went missing. Lady Miz would  
swear she would kill him when he got back from whatever pub or mountain he  
had snuck off to."  
  
"But she knew where he was, and that he would be coming back."  
  
"True enough. He was never gone long enough for Ai to miss him." Both men  
knew how much Lord Fujisawa had doted on his daughter.  
  
Makoto's face brightened. "Hey, remember when I told you about how we had  
to plan our return to Earth? All those things we had to do?"  
  
"Sure, I remember." Makoto called it his 'hide in plain sight' strategy.  
Nanami, Fujisawa, and Makoto had told everybody back on Earth that they and  
Nanami's brother Katsuhiko Jinnai had been spirited away to an alien world  
called El Hazard by the ancient sorceress named Ifurita found sleeping in  
the tomb beneath Shinonome High and so on and so forth. Of course nobody  
believed them, and dismissed their disappearances as an unexplainable  
occurrence. But their families and closest friends had come to believe them  
-- that was who had really mattered.  
  
"Well one day we're all sitting down for dinner at our place there, me and  
Ifurita and the Fujisawa family. Ai had invited her boyfriend Hiroshi over  
like she had many times before. I guess she was fifteen then. Seemed like  
they'd been dating for almost a year as I recall. Right in the middle of  
dinner she blurts out she's spilled the beans to Hiroshi, told him the whole  
story. And I mean everything, from when I found Ifurita underneath the  
school right up to when the Phantom Tribe invaded Japan. And she wonders if  
maybe she can take Hiroshi with her to Floristica for the weekend, he's  
dying to see it."  
  
He chuckled as he continued. "Man, you could have knocked me over with a  
feather. I was all ready for Miz to go into hysterics and start tossing  
waterspouts around. She could still do that you know, when she got worked  
up enough. Instead she looks at sensei and says 'well, if it's okay with  
your father.' So sensei thinks about that for a second and says 'Sure, as  
long as Ifurita-mama can spare the time to take you over. But there's one  
rule you have to follow, young man. No cameras or camcorders. If you want  
a picture of something, you'll have to sit down with pencil and pad and draw  
it.' Ai said 'thanks Daddy!' and that was that. Ifurita sat there silent  
the whole time, just as dumbfounded as I was. The next day she and Ai had a  
little chat about our secret. But sure enough the very next week she  
brought Ai and Hiroshi to Floristica. They had a blast."  
  
They both sat in silence for several minutes after Makoto finished his  
story. At length, Traugot stood up to begin picking up their cups and  
saucers. "Makoto, why don't you go to my room and get some sleep? I'll  
wake you for lunch before we go."  
  
Makoto's bleary-eyed face scrunched up in puzzlement. "Go?"  
  
"I'm scheduled to make my regular report to the King and Queen this  
afternoon and you're coming with me. I think we have some important things  
to discuss."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ifurita placed her free hand on the back of the little wooden chair the  
young Phantom Tribe woman was seated in and leaned down over her. She  
brought her ivory face within inches of the azure features of the young  
woman staring up at her with wide, liquid eyes. "Young lady, I think  
perhaps you do not appreciate the gravity of the situation you find yourself  
in."  
  
She swallowed and fidgeted a bit, but otherwise the young woman did not  
react. After a moment, she spoke hesitantly. "I-- I swear I'm telling you  
the truth."  
  
Ifurita raised a silvery eyebrow. "You swear, do you? And just what would  
a self-proclaimed heretic swear upon, I wonder?"  
  
"I swear upon the soul of my mother, the High Shamaness Laria."  
  
"A rather bold proclamation, since it is her whereabouts you are lying to us  
about."  
  
The woman shook her head. "I don't know where my mother is. I wish I did.  
I surely wish I did."  
  
Ifurita lifted her hand off the chair and snapped her fingers. Immediately,  
the flap of the tent opened and a Mountaineer entered, carrying a gray metal  
case about two feet long. "Just leave it over there," Ifurita said,  
gesturing to the small table and chair at the other end of the little tent.  
He set the case there, turned smartly and exited. Ifurita walked over to  
the table and stood there, her back to the woman. "Miss... Calen, was it?"  
  
"Yes, Ma'am."  
  
"Miss Calen, you are an acolyte in the same order your mother leads, as I  
recall."  
  
"Yes, Ma'am."  
  
"I take it you hope one day to take up her position, is that not right?"  
  
"If I am found worthy, then I hope one day to have that honor."  
  
"Indeed?" Ifurita undid the snaps of the case and lifted the lid. She  
pulled open the straps that securely held one of the two objects within, and  
picked it up. "Well then, I have good news for you. It would appear that  
you have been promoted."  
  
She turned around, quickly took the two steps to where Calen sat and thrust  
the object before her face. "You no doubt recognize this."  
  
Ifurita watched Calen closely. Her face showed immediate recognition, then  
growing horror. "Where--"  
  
"I said you no doubt recognize this, correct?"  
  
"It is my mother's!" Calen breathed. She tentatively reached out to the  
charred, pitted piece of the ornate wooden staff that Ifurita held.  
"Where-"  
  
Quick as a cat Ifurita snatched the staff away and brought her own staff up  
and under Calen's chin, lifting her head so that Ifurita could look right  
into her dark, bewildered eyes.  
  
"Where did we find it, you ask? I shall tell you where. We found it right  
beside the remains of one of the bombs that destroyed the amphitheater in  
Floristica, that is where! The same bombs that vomited enough poison gas to  
kill eight hundred people!" She withdrew her staff quickly before turning  
towards the door.  
  
"It appears as though your mother botched the job and got caught in her own  
trap, does it not?" Ifurita continued icily. "This game is over, Calen!  
You would make things much easier for yourself if you tell us what you  
really discussed the last time you saw her."  
  
"Speak up!" Ifurita shouted, slamming her hands down hard on the table  
before Calen.  
  
The young woman could only sit and shake her head as tears of grief and  
terror streamed down her face. "I told you everything," she croaked.  
  
"So you have no idea why your mother was in Floristica?"  
  
"No, I don't!"  
  
"Did she tell you where she was going, or maybe just that she would be gone  
for a while?"  
  
"No!" she sobbed, finally closing eyes that were too full of tears to see  
much.  
  
"Why don't you let me talk with her, Champion?"  
  
Ifurita turned to face the only other occupant of the room. The young man  
had been sitting quietly at the table for the past two hours, watching the  
proceedings. Prince Justen was dressed in his black Mountaineer's field  
uniform. The rank insignia at his shoulder and the medal at his breast with  
the royal insignia were the only markings that distinguished him from his  
foot solders. He also sported his own customized goggles, the ones that  
warded against magical illusions. His were black and fit around his face  
snugly. He had become quite fond of them, wearing them even when not in the  
field.  
  
"As you wish, my lord." Ifurita went to place the top half of Laria's  
shattered staff back into the open case, and left the tent.  
  
She kept watch just outside though, her Demon-God senses letting her follow  
what was happening inside like she were still there. After a couple of  
minutes, Prince Justen stood and approached the sobbing woman, who had just  
stopped mumbling something that sounded like a prayer. He sat down on  
another wooden chair, resting his arms on the chair back as he considered  
her. "How old are you, Calen?" he asked softly.  
  
"Nineteen, my Lord," she answered in a quavering voice.  
  
"And yet you serve as Shamaness to this colony, do you not?"  
  
"Yes, my lord."  
  
"You're very young to be given such responsibility. But that's often the  
way it goes for the children of great leaders, is it not? Believe me, I  
know. I'm even younger than you, and here I am at the order of my mother  
and father the King and Queen of Roshtaria, tasked with finding out who has  
been killing my people. I'm sure you can imagine the pressure I'm under.  
Perhaps you and I can come to an understanding."  
  
Calen's breathing and heartbeat were steady. She was not reacting to what  
he was saying.  
  
"I can well imagine how it has been for you," he continued. "She was your  
mother after all, and head of your order. You could not deny her anything.  
I understand that. Even if you have done questionable things, that can be  
overlooked. I can see to it myself. But to do that, I need something from  
you, Calen. Just a name would be fine. Even if you were not privy to the  
specifics, surely you have some idea of who else may have been involved.  
Somebody your mother had been spending a lot of time with, perhaps.  
Somebody she spoke highly of."  
  
Calen sniffed and dried her eyes. "In recent weeks, she had been spending  
much time with General Rilikan of the Roshtarian Garrison in Cerulea. She  
is--"  
  
Ifurita heard the breath catch in Calen's throat. She could sense the  
strain on the young woman's body as she forced herself to accept the horror  
she had just been shown. "That is, sh-she w-was quite fond of him," she  
finished quietly.  
  
"Are you mocking me?" Justen asked in a testy voice.  
  
"N-no, my lord," Calen whimpered.  
  
Justen spent a few more minutes trying to coax something out of her, but  
Ifurita could see that it was futile. Presently Justen called for the  
guard. He summoned two of his fellows standing by outside, and they  
escorted a slumped Calen back to the holding pens that were visible a short  
distance away. Justen emerged from the tent and joined Ifurita. "So, what  
do you think?" he asked.  
  
Ifurita sighed resignedly. "She knows nothing. Of that I am certain."  
  
Justen pursed his lips. "Damn. I thought we had finally caught a break  
here."  
  
Indeed, Ifurita had thought the same thing upon learning the Shamaness of  
this colony was no less than Laria's daughter. She had insisted upon  
interrogating the woman herself, and Justen had insisted upon attending. "I  
am sorry, my lord. I seem to have wasted your time to no purpose."  
  
Ifurita could see the young prince trying to rein in his frustration. "This  
is the third raid where we've come up empty."  
  
"Our officers are continuing to interrogate the prisoners, and to examine  
the contents of the colony."  
  
"What's left of it," Justen said dryly. "This was the smallest one yet."  
  
"Indeed." Ifurita looked up to the mountains his legion was deployed  
around. The caves here had held but a few hundred Tribesmen, and precious  
little else.  
  
"Maybe we need to rethink our strategy," Justen said. "Form three task  
forces, one around each battalion, and start going after the smaller  
colonies we've found out about. If this is a fringe group we're looking  
for, they could be anywhere."  
  
Ifurita nodded. "There is some risk of course. But I would agree it seems  
we are not facing a large conventional force. A network of small cells  
would be more likely to locate in the remote colonies. I believe your idea  
has merit, your Majesty, though we ought to discuss this with Commander  
Leonid."  
  
Justen decided they would walk back to the flagship rather than call for a  
skiff. Along the way they encountered many of the Mountaineers either  
standing guard or hurrying about the task of strengthening and maintaining  
the base they had established here. The Prince would always stop and talk  
with his men, offering words of thanks and encouragement. They were all in  
good spirits, as expected; the rank and file had no idea what the  
intelligence officers had been reporting. No one else was aware that so far  
they had come up with nothing.  
  
As they approached the Defiant, grounded in the makeshift airfield, a  
frigate approached from the south at full speed. Ifurita had sensed it some  
time ago, but had decided to say nothing until she could identify it. "It  
is the Hornet," Ifurita announced.  
  
Justen's expression hardened. The Hornet, one of the fastest ships in the  
fleet, had the task of relaying the regular reports they had been sending  
back to Floristica. They had been hoping to have something to report from  
Calen's interrogation.  
  
The Hornet set down next to the flagship. Ifurita and Justen arrived in the  
ship's briefing room momentarily, where they were greeted by Commander  
Leonid and an officer from the Hornet. But the officer from Floristica was  
not the man they were expecting.  
  
"Commander Saulit," Ifurita said in greeting.  
  
The acting commander of the former Roshtarian Garrison of Cerulea saluted.  
"Champion. Your Majesty. The King and Queen send their regards and ask  
that you heed the summons I have been tasked to bring."  
  
"Summons?" Justen asked. Ifurita had already noted the paper on the table  
bearing the Queen's seal. Leonid exercised his initiative and broke the  
seal to review the contents, as was his right. From his expression, he had  
not liked what he found.  
  
Ifurita cleared her throat, which served to remind Prince Justen that they  
were waiting on him. "Well, let's hear it," Justen said rather too loudly,  
failing to conceal his puzzlement and anxiety.  
  
Leonid looked none too happy as he read in a clear, officious tone. "Queen  
Rune Venus of Roshtaria sends greetings to her son Prince Justen. She  
wishes to inform him that vital information pertaining to his mission in  
Cerulea has recently come to light. Therefore, Her Majesty sends the  
following summons. He is directed to immediately cease all offensive  
operations in Cerulea. Further, he is directed to hand command of the  
Mountain Legion to Commander Leonid and to proceed with best speed to  
Floristica. There he is to immediately present himself to the Queen for  
consultation. This message is sent by order of her Majesty Queen Rune  
Venus."  
  
In the stunned silence that followed, Ifurita took stock of their situation.  
She realized why Rune Venus had sent Rilikan's aide-de-camp as messenger.  
Despite his rank of Major, he was still acting commander of the Cerulean  
Garrison, and therefore had the same authority as the territorial governor.  
Effectively, they were in his territory. Even without the Queen's summons,  
he had authority over all of them. It was no wonder the young man looked so  
nervous.  
  
"What the hell is this about?" Justen snapped. "Information? What  
information? What did my mother tell you?"  
  
"Nothing more than what is in the summons, Your Highness," Saulit said in an  
apologetic tone.  
  
"Acting Governor Saulit," Ifurita said mostly for Justen's benefit, for  
obviously the Prince did not recognize with whom they were speaking. "We  
are currently in the process of securing this base of operations. I am sure  
Her Majesty appreciates that the Prince cannot leave his command until he  
has ensured their safety."  
  
"The Hornet received an all-clear sign from the flagship, which I assume  
means that no engagement is in progress and no immediate threat to the base  
has been established."  
  
It was a few moments before Leonid took it upon himself to step in and  
answer. "That is correct, Commander."  
  
Ifurita was quite impressed by Saulit's bearing, considering the current  
state of his body's vital signs. Implicitly, he had just told the Prince  
and the Champion that they had no grounds for defying the order he had  
brought. And Ifurita had no doubt he intended to see that order carried  
out. That left her just one card to play.  
  
"Commander, I would like to offer a compromise."  
  
Saulit regarded her calmly, despite his heart rate spiking. "Yes,  
Champion?"  
  
"Our intelligence officers have uncovered some significant information  
today. I would like to delay the Hornet's departure until the day's  
intelligence briefings have been compiled and delivered, which will be  
before first light tomorrow. In the meantime, I would like to fly to  
Floristica and present myself on the Prince's behalf." She turned to  
Justen. "With Your Majesty's approval, of course."  
  
Ifurita was relieved to see Justen take the hint. "Yes, that might be  
best," he answered. "You can present yourself to the Queen all the earlier,  
and I will have more complete information to present when I arrive." He  
turned to Saulit. "Have you any objection, Commander Saulit?"  
  
"None, my lord," Saulit said. As expected, he was greatly relieved at  
avoiding a confrontation with the Prince and the Demon-God.  
  
Ifurita had bought the mission some time, hopefully enough to enlighten Her  
Majesty and return with new orders.  
  
A few minutes later, Ifurita was in the high stratosphere, speeding towards  
Floristica. Her invisible force-field reduced the hypersonic, superheated  
airflow to a stiff, warm breeze that sent her silvery hair flying behind  
her. Now that she was alone, she relaxed her mask and let her annoyance  
show. What the Hells could Rune be thinking, sending an order like that?  
Telling her son to relinquish command and come home, without any  
explanation? She might well tell him she believed he had failed already!  
Did she expect this all to be done in a couple of days?  
  
Ifurita flew straight in through one of the high, wide windows of the  
antechamber to the Queen's chambers and landed in front of the two guards at  
the door, fast enough that she probably appeared to materialize there.  
Naturally they were startled, but a second later they both saluted in  
perfect unison. "I have been summoned by the Queen," she said curtly.  
  
The senior guard acknowledged her, and opened the door. He did not ask her  
to wait for him to go announce her, which meant he had standing orders to  
admit her immediately. Not surprisingly, Rune had expected her to come  
straight away upon receiving the order. Resisting the urge to fly, Ifurita  
walked briskly through the airy hallway before being admitted by another  
pair of guards to Rune's private audience chamber.  
  
She stopped dead when both Rune Venus and Makoto rose from the couch they  
had been sitting together at. Ifurita frowned, but bowed to the Queen.  
"Your Majesty. My lord. We received your orders. Prince Justen will be  
departing for Floristica early tomorrow. In the meantime, he has sent me to  
present myself on his behalf."  
  
The defensive, troubled looks from both Rune and Makoto told her they both  
knew what she really meant -- I came here to find out just what the hell all  
this nonsense is about.  
  
Rune approached her. "Ifurita, I'm sorry that I had to recall you like  
this. But what Makoto has to tell you is not something I could simply put  
in a dispatch."  
  
Ifurita's frown deepened and she looked toward her husband. "What Makoto  
has to say?"  
  
Makoto also approached closer. "Ifurita, why don't you come sit down."  
  
Simply because it would be rude to the Queen not to, Ifurita set her staff  
aside and sat down in a chair opposite the two of them. "Ifurita, I'll just  
come out and say it," Makoto said. "I don't think the Phantom Tribe bombed  
the amphitheater."  
  
Ifurita blinked in genuine bewilderment. "You don't *think* they bombed the  
amphitheater? Well, might I ask just whom you think *did?*"  
  
"I don't know. But if we assume the Ceruleans did it, then things just  
don't add up. One of the bombs went off prematurely, presumably because  
they were using a very poorly designed fuse. The Ceruleans are miners; they  
are experts at blasting rock. They would never make such a mistake."  
  
"This is old news," Ifurita said in a dismissive tone. "They may very well  
have been throwing us off by planting a false clue."  
  
"Speaking of false clues, I assume you received Laria's staff, which Traugot  
sent at your request?" Makoto said dryly.  
  
Ifurita found herself fuming. "We did," she said very quietly. After  
pausing a moment to compose herself, she directed her attention toward her  
Queen. "Rune, surely you have not recalled us on the basis of this alone."  
  
"No, I have not," Rune said sternly. "I think you should listen to the  
rest."  
  
Ifurita directed her icy stare back at Makoto. Of course he would not be  
intimidated, but she wanted them both to know how displeased she was at  
having her time wasted like this. "We've been trying to figure out how they  
managed to carry two-ton smudge pots into the catacombs so quickly and  
quietly," Makoto continued. "Put simply, there is no way. It could not  
have been done by hand, and any machine we can think of would be too bulky,  
too noisy or would take far too much time."  
  
Ifurita shrugged. "They obviously found a way, Makoto. We simply have yet  
to discover it. It is to answer this very question that we have been  
scouring their nests for the past week. Perhaps they have unearthed and  
adapted some lost, ancient technology. They have certainly done so in the  
past, in fact they are quite good at it. By adapting machines from the Holy  
Wars, they have done far more remarkable things than carrying a couple of  
bombs into a tunnel."  
  
It was Makoto's turn to look annoyed. "That was before most of them were  
wiped out in the Bugrom War and on Earth."  
  
"They have had more than twenty years to regroup and rebuild," Ifurita said  
mildly, like an artisan might address a dimwitted apprentice to reinforce an  
elementary fact. "It is unlikely they have the strength to mount an open  
attack as they eventually did in the Bugrom War. But we have no reason to  
believe they ran their endgame then. They have been wandering the dark  
places of El Hazard for centuries, who knows what else they may have found?  
You still have not told me anything I do not already know, Makoto. Do you  
not think I have considered these same questions myself?"  
  
She looked back at Rune. "Was this what you wanted me to hear, Your  
Majesty?" she asked in a very carefully modulated tone that made it nothing  
more than a casual question. Rune Venus, who Ifurita was relieved to see  
was showing some sign of doubt, looked toward Makoto sternly.  
  
"There is one more thing," Makoto said. "Soon after the expeditionary force  
left, I asked Shayla-Shayla and Afura Mann to go to Cerulea--"  
  
"What!?" Ifurita stood bolt upright. "You mean they're in Cerulea right  
now?"  
  
Makoto put up his hand. "Please, hear me out."  
  
"Do you have any idea just what you have done, Makoto? Cerulea is a war  
zone! You sent our friends there all by themselves?"  
  
"I *asked* them to go," Makoto said testily. "Don't think that just because  
we've all gotten a little older that we're helpless without you!"  
  
Ifurita shook her head in disbelief. "Makoto, I thought you had more sense  
than this. Shayla and Afura love you; you know full well they would never  
deny you anything. How could you send them to such a place? What did you  
hope to accomplish?"  
  
"I hoped to uncover the truth."  
  
"That is precisely what I am trying to do!" Ifurita snapped.  
  
"Are you?" Makoto said coldly. "I have heard from Afura and Shayla more  
than once since they arrived in Cerulea. They have sent only very brief  
notes, but I think they painted a clearer picture of what is going on in  
just a few words than you and Justen have in all the mountains of reports  
you have been sending back."  
  
"A picture of what? Where did you send them?"  
  
"They have been following the Mountaineers from one attack to the next." He  
smiled bitterly. "It's not as hard as you may think, you know. Your trail  
has been quite conspicuous. They just follow the smoke."  
  
"Makoto, you know well as I we cannot spare men to guard each site we have  
assaulted," Ifurita said. "We only have enough for an occasional air  
patrol. And we only secured the nests and the immediate surrounding area.  
Those sites could still be swarming with Phantom Tribe warriors!"  
  
"I wouldn't say swarming. But yes, they did meet up with some."  
  
"Gods, you mean to say..." Ifurita breathed.  
  
"Don't worry, they're fine. In fact they've been traveling with some  
Cerulean partisans who escaped your dragnet. They are taking Afura and  
Shayla to meet somebody who knows how Laria disappeared."  
  
Ifurita just filed this information and turned back to the Queen. "Rune,  
did you authorize this?" she asked curtly, making no attempt to hide her  
shock.  
  
"I did not," Rune said, obviously displeased. "Nor would I have. But I  
must agree the Elder Sisters tell quite a different story than what I could  
glean from the reports Justen has been sending. It would seem that the  
reason your casualties have been so light has been that you have encountered  
virtually no resistance at any of the strongholds you have assaulted. They  
all surrendered without a fight, hardly what one would expect from an  
implacable enemy."  
  
"Majesty, we have simply not found the active elements of their organization  
yet," Ifurita said before Makoto began laughing bitterly. His face fell  
under her withering stare, a look that said "you have crossed the line."  
  
"I had assumed they would be in the largest nests, obviously that assumption  
was incorrect. If you want to blame somebody for this miscalculation, then  
blame me, for I was the one who suggested the first strike points. But the  
Prince and I have already been discussing a change in strategy. We plan to  
split up the legion into its three component battalions and begin sweeps of  
the more remote areas. There are a limited number of places they could be  
hiding. They cannot evade us forever."  
  
Ifurita and Makoto regarded Rune Venus as she considered this. Ifurita  
could piece together what had been happening since she had left for Cerulea.  
Makoto had been obsessing on the details of his investigation at the  
amphitheater, treating it as a puzzle to solve, just like he treated  
everything else in life. It was so frustratingly typical of him to miss the  
big picture. She could almost see Makoto bursting into Rune's room and  
raving about smudge-pots and detonators like he had discovered some new law  
of physics. The Queen loved and trusted Makoto as she did few others; he  
could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.  
  
At length, Rune met Ifurita's eyes again. "Do you still believe that we  
will find my people's killers in Cerulea?"  
  
"Yes, Your Majesty, I do."  
  
"Rune, can't we at least wait until we hear from Shayla and Afura?" Makoto  
pleaded, obviously perceiving that Rune was having a change of heart.  
  
Ifurita had heard enough of this. "And who is this person that they are  
supposed to be meeting? Some Tribesman who swears Laria went mad and  
planted the bombs all by herself? Some peasant with a story about how he  
saw her being spirited away by evil demons? By the Gods, Makoto, tell  
Shayla and Afura to come back home before they get themselves hurt!"  
  
Makoto shook his head. "I'm sure they would not come back, even if I asked  
them to. Not after seeing what they have seen."  
  
"Do you at least know where they are?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then all I can do is pray this fools' errand upon which you have sent them  
shall not get them killed." She looked back to Rune. "Your Majesty, the  
sooner I get back to Cerulea with new orders, the sooner we can plan the  
next stage in our operation."  
  
It was a full minute before Rune Venus finally stood. "Very well. I shall  
draw them up straight away."  
  
Ifurita bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."  
  
"Rune--"  
  
Makoto froze under the Queen's stare. There were times he firmly believed  
Rune could give even Demon-Gods lessons in intimidation.  
  
"Makoto, my friend, you have said your peace," Rune said in a surprisingly  
gentle voice. "My first responsibility is to my people. If Ifurita  
believes there is still a chance that my son can hunt down the killers, then  
I must allow him to continue." She left the room, indicating to the both of  
them she considered matter was closed.  
  
Makoto looked utterly defeated. But Ifurita felt no sense of victory. She  
went to sit down beside him. "Makoto, I am truly sorry. I know you mean  
well, but I cannot allow you to jeopardize our mission."  
  
He looked at her with eyes that showed weariness and smoldering anger. "How  
many Tribesmen have been killed?"  
  
Ifurita was taken aback by the question. "One hundred and forty-three  
confirmed."  
  
Makoto nodded knowingly, as if her reply answered some deeper inner question  
she could not grasp. He shook his head as he gently took her hand, like he  
had cast off some dark train of thought. "It is good to see you again,  
Ifurita."  
  
She smiled, and they clasped hands. "I had not thought I would see you  
again so soon."  
  
"How is everyone?"  
  
Ifurita did not need to guess who he was talking about. "Justen is  
obviously frustrated at our lack of progress, but he is dealing with it  
well. He is the one who suggested a change of approach, in fact. That  
takes great moral courage."  
  
"Yes, it does," Makoto said in a way that seemed to impart the statement  
with great significance.  
  
"Qawool, Elena and Kiku have been a great help. All the soldiers love them  
to death, which is not surprising."  
  
"I bet they're all drooling over you behind your back too."  
  
Ifurita smiled impishly. "I suspect they are more interested in the  
effectiveness of my artillery support than in the shape of my hips."  
  
"Did you hear that Nanami's restaurant burned down?"  
  
Ifurita just stared at him, utterly stunned. He had dropped this bombshell  
as casually as if he had been discussing the weather. "What?" Ifurita  
breathed.  
  
"Some guys in masks threw fire-bombs through the windows," Makoto said  
matter-of-factly. "The place is basically gutted."  
  
"Dear Gods," she breathed, dumbstruck. "W-was anybody hurt?"  
  
"Well, Shevlin is in jail of course, but--"  
  
"Tell me, Makoto!"  
  
"A new girl Nanami hired had to be taken to the hospital, but she's okay  
now."  
  
"Is Nanami--?"  
  
"She's with Asdic and Jilyn. I suggested she stay with me, but..." he  
shrugged. "Under the circumstances, you know."  
  
Ifurita shook her head. "I do not understand, Makoto! This is why we put  
the defectors in custody in the first place. Why wasn't Nanami staying in  
the Palace?"  
  
"She refused," Makoto said simply.  
  
"Oh," Ifurita said disgustedly as she rolled her eyes. "That idiot! What  
was she thinking?"  
  
"What was *she* thinking?" Ifurita's hackles went up, sensing the edge in  
Makoto's voice. "What were *you* thinking, Ifurita?" he shouted, thrusting  
her hand aside. "Did you stop and think of what might come of having  
Shevlin hauled off in irons? You might as well have branded 'saboteur'  
across his forehead in big bold letters!"  
  
"But, Makoto, it was--"  
  
"--for his protection, yes, I know!" Makoto shot up, walked a few steps and  
stood with arms folded, facing a way from her. "RRune will be finished with  
your new marching orders soon," he said coldly. "You'd better go, you have  
work to do."  
  
Ifurita stood up. It would be best to leave him alone now, but there was  
something she needed first. "Makoto, I've been using a lot of power in the  
past few days. I...I need you to wind me up."  
  
Without a word, Makoto walked over to where she had laid her staff against a  
wall and snatched it up. She thought he was actually going to do it without  
even looking at her. But as soon as he was alongside her he stopped and  
looked at her. "Ifurita, you should release the defectors. If they want to  
stay in protective custody that's fine, but at least give them the choice.  
They deserve to be with their families if that's what they want."  
  
Ifurita shook her head. "I do not think that would be wise."  
  
"Is that the Voices talking, giving you their tactical assessment?"  
  
She closed her eyes, waiting for her anger to wash through her and settle  
into the place where she could hold it at bay. She looked at him again and  
spoke in a very low voice.  
  
"You must be very upset to say such a thing to me."  
  
Makoto's despairing eyes told her he knew how badly his words had hurt her.  
She knew how much he regretted it without his even having to say so.  
"Ifurita, I'm... sorry."  
  
He walked up behind her, placing the key staff into the socket at the small  
of her back. Ifurita felt it lock in place. At the first turn of the key,  
her motor functions shut down. She could not have moved from that spot even  
if she wanted to. This was what she hated most about the whole process,  
being as helpless as a newborn babe.  
  
She hated every one of these awful moments. She felt as though she really  
was a mechanical doll, being wound up like a child's toy. This was exactly  
the wrong time for Makoto to remind her of the Voices, those heartless  
tactical computers in her head which she relied upon and loathed at the same  
time. They would always be a part of her, whispering in their paranoid  
little voices, reminding her how she spent centuries doing the bidding of  
madmen who loved no one save themselves; loved nothing save power and  
conquest.  
  
When it was done, Makoto removed the staff and walked around to face her.  
He handed her the staff, and they both held it, while his free hand sought  
out hers. In perfect unison, they closed their eyes and their foreheads  
touched.  
  
#Really, I'm sorry# she heard Makoto speak to her mind.  
  
#It is okay.#  
  
#No, it's not. I'm being selfish.#  
  
#Makoto, you are being your usual warmhearted self. You hate this war in a  
way that I cannot comprehend. You yearn for perfect truth and justice. I  
only wish I could deliver it to you.#  
  
#It was wrong of me to expect you to.#  
  
His lips brushed hers, and she opened her eyes. "Love you," he said softly.  
  
They smiled. "Love you," she whispered.  
  
Rune found them like this when she reentered the room. She smiled warmly  
and knowingly as she handed Ifurita the envelope with her new orders. "You  
need not read it here."  
  
"I know." Ifurita did not expect any surprises. They had obviously come to  
an understanding. "I should return as soon as I can," she replied as she  
pocketed the envelope.  
  
"Of course." Rune hesitated for a moment before moving to embrace her.  
Ifurita squeezed her back. "Thank you for watching over my son," Rune said  
in a voice that only the Demon-God would detect as being ever so slightly  
tremulous.  
  
Ifurita smiled at her as they parted. "He is safe in my hands."  
  
"Tell him our thoughts and prayers are with him always," Makoto said, no  
doubt perceiving what Rune really wanted to say.  
  
"I shall. Farewell." Ifurita rose and sailed out the window, rising  
swiftly into the darkening sky.  
  
On the way back to the front, Ifurita occupied her mind with the logistics  
of the anticipated reorganizing of her expeditionary force into smaller  
attack groups. But this did nothing to salve the unease that gripped her as  
she sailed far above the land she had sworn to protect.  
  
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	15. Rough Justice Ch 15

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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"The first casualty when war comes is truth."  
Hiram Warren Johnson  
  
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Fifteen  
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Justen watched with morbid fascination, silently mulling how this encounter  
had degenerated so rapidly. He feared it would become much worse before it  
got better.  
  
Saulit chuckled sardonically as he squared off before his opponent. He and  
Leonid stood toe to toe, each trying to stare the other down. "Considering  
the Champion only left six hours ago I'm simply amazed at how much has gone  
wrong with your best laid plans, Commander."  
  
"Damn your eyes, Saulit!" Leonid spat back. "It's those treasonous bastards  
you call soldiers who are our main problem! Maybe if you set a good example  
and follow Her Majesty's orders we've been given I might not have to court  
martial the lot of you!"  
  
Saulit snorted indignantly and crossed his arms. "And here I thought you  
might at least be somewhat grateful to see that the Expeditionaries had  
returned the Elder Priestesses safely to us from the lower reaches of the  
Cerulean compound."  
  
"Fool! Your meddling probably helped slow them down!"  
  
"You're the only fool here, Leonid, for not believing what the Expedition  
and I have been trying to tell you all along!"  
  
"And why should I believe one word from traitorous vermin like you?" Leonid  
huffed while pointing accusingly at his fellow commander. "You and the rest  
of your pathetic excuse for a unit have been consorting with the enemy from  
the get-go! You might as well have handed them the keys to the Palace gates  
themselves!"  
  
"'Traitorous'? Now see here, you pompous windbag!" Saulit barked, eyes  
flashing. "My men and I have taken the same pledges to the Crown as you and  
your men have. You are in no position to question our loyalties!"  
  
"My men aren't threatening mass desertion, are they? Any loyal Roshtarian  
wouldn't even think such things!"  
  
"We serve the greater good of the Roshtarian people, Leonid! We approached  
the Ceruleans in a spirit of friendship, not domination. We do not serve  
the whims of narcissistic petty aristocrats who advocate genocide!"  
  
"You dare challenge my orders? I shall see you rot in the Palace dungeons  
for such insubordination!"  
  
"No, Leonid," Saulit shouted, standing nose to nose with his adversary while  
wagging his finger under the man's nose. "The Council will hear of this.  
I'll see to it that this gang of thugs you've brought here to play soldier  
in the hinterlands is disbanded in utter disgrace!"  
  
Leonid's face assumed a rictus of blind animal rage, quickly turning deep  
scarlet. As he began trembling violently, Justen could see what was about  
to happen as if it had already played out before his eyes.  
  
"RUFUS!"  
  
Leonid's fist was blindingly fast, but the Prince's cat-armor was faster.  
His hand hit a wall of purple fur that appeared as if by magic around  
Saulit's torso. The little creature's four stubby legs elongated  
grotesquely, shoving the two men apart. Losing their balance  
simultaneously, each collapsed loudly onto the many cushions that  
surrounding the command tent's meeting table.  
  
"That will do, Commander!" Justen said loudly as his cat resumed its normal  
form. "May I remind the both of you of your serious breach of discipline?"  
His own anger seemed to dispel the panic that threatened to render him  
completely helpless. "Things may well be going to the Seven Hells,  
gentlemen, but I shan't tolerate infighting in my ranks any longer!"  
  
He turned to where Saulit had begun to sit upright. "I shouldn't have to  
remind you, Major, the Commander acted with full authority and blessing of  
both the Crown and the Council," Justen growled through gritted teeth. "I  
can appreciate how torn you must feel knowing what we know now. Were I in  
your situation I would feel the same way."  
  
Leonid shakily got to his feet, standing with his hands on his knees as he  
slowing got his wind back. "But Your Highness--"  
  
"I can assure you, Commander, that when we return to Floristica I shall take  
full responsibility for what we have done," Justen said, turning toward the  
partially open tent flap. "Until then, both of you would do well to  
remember that even the Prince must serve the common good of the Roshtarian  
people. I have no qualms whatsoever having your seconds order both of you  
bound and gagged if you dare lose sight of that fact."  
  
As Justen huffed, a sense of relief filled him seeing the two officers no  
longer seemed inclined to trade anything more serious than harsh language.  
Despite his haughty words he had no idea what he would do if either man had  
decided to defy him. Conflict between the Mountaineers and the  
Expeditionaries would be catastrophic and he knew it. He knew he needed to  
take control of the situation, but hardly knew where to begin.  
  
"Since we have suspended offensive operations, we do have a little time to  
try and sort out the meaning of these latest developments," he sighed  
resignedly. "If nothing else, the two of you shall have more facts to shout  
at each other about."  
  
"Major Saulit seems to think he has it all figured out already, Your  
Majesty," Leonid said coldly.  
  
"The facts speak for themselves," Saulit countered.  
  
"Please," Justen said wearily. "I think we can at least all agree we are in  
a different situation than we were a few hours ago."  
  
Justen stopped, seeing the tent flap flutter wide open. The three Great  
Priestesses entered in single file behind Qawool. "Majesty, I thought you  
might want to know Doctor Kenamabad has released our guests from the field  
hospital."  
  
"And their condition, Great Priestess?"  
  
"They'll live, your Highness," Elena answered him.  
  
Kiku chuckled. "These aren't your garden variety prospectors, Majesty.  
They're made of sterner stuff."  
  
Justen only nodded. It would seem that they were indeed.  
  
"The Elder Sisters await your debriefing in the compound."  
  
He dreaded the thought of them giving him more bad news. But with his  
credibility on the line, he knew his was a very important part to play. He  
took a deep breath to find his center. It would help him keep the tremors  
out of his voice.  
  
"We should attend them straight away."  
  
Several minutes later, Justen found himself staring with macabre rapture at  
the monstrosity confined to a cage chained on a horse-drawn cart in the  
center of the compound. It seemed to quiver as though it were panting. As  
its saucer-sized compound eyes registered Justen's presence, the hideous  
thing began to throw itself against the bars at him.  
  
The Mountaineer's chief surgeon took the Prince's shoulders, trying to keep  
him at a safe distance. "Careful, Majesty", the doctor admonished. "We  
have no idea what it might be capable of."  
  
Justen could only blink stupidly at the slobbering creature. "W-what is  
this th-thing?"  
  
"Neither I nor my colleagues have seen anything like it, your Highness.  
Despite its obvious injuries, it still seems to have no end of fight left in  
it."  
  
"We're not sure either, Majesty," Afura croaked nearby as she wobbled to  
keep weight off her left foot. Shayla stood next to her, supporting her old  
friend with the one arm that wasn't in a sling. Cuts and bruises could  
easily be seen between the bandages on their heads and the hemlines of their  
borrowed robes.  
  
"The Ceruleans accompanying us had been tracking this thing for days," Afura  
stated before being cut off by a coughing fit. Shayla held her friend on  
her shoulder with her good arm as she continued their tale. "They stumbled  
upon it when they were out looking for their missing High Shamaness. It  
didn't seem to take kindly to their interrogation."  
  
Justen stared with fascination at the creature in the cage. He had studied  
zoology certainly enough -- first from Doctor Schtalubaugh and then Dean  
Traugot. Nothing he had ever seen in any engraving or sketch came close to  
how grotesque this creature appeared. "But why would this thing have  
anything to do with Laria?"  
  
"We have a few ideas we discussed with the Ceruleans partisans we helped  
track this thing down after it gave us the slip. We couldn't risk it  
returning to wherever it came from for fear our movements would be found  
out. It put up quite a fight but we finally managed to restrain it. That  
is, after it took the brunt of two Cerulean shaped charges."  
  
Justen's brow knit as he considered what she was saying. "Just what are you  
suggesting, Elder?"  
  
"The Ceruleans told us it was masquerading as a Dorian merchant at one  
point," Afura said as she regained her breath. "Hard to believe this thing  
actually looked human at one time."  
  
"Excuse me, Priestesses," Doctor Kenamabad said as he addressed them.  
"Allow me to point out its lower appendages were almost completely blown off  
by the explosions. The fact it can still move after sustaining such a  
grievous injury amazes me."  
  
Justen couldn't take his eyes off the chitinous beak where a man's mouth  
would have once been. It had a few thick, wiry black hairs waving over its  
elongated skull, bobbing like strands of grass. The thing vented its fury  
toward Justen once again, salivating and snarling as it rammed its face  
menacingly against the bars of its cage.  
  
In the next moment Justen heard soft swish above his head, followed by  
scuffling noises. He heard the sound of safeties clicking off all around  
him. His frazzled nerves threatened to fail him completely as he silently  
prayed to the gods to deliver him from yet another threat.  
  
But then he saw black robes flap open and a familiar staff plant itself in  
the ground. The sighs of relief all around were heard plainly as the  
garrison's riflemen enabled their weapons' safeties again. Justen silently  
thanked the gods above for answering his prayers.  
  
"Champion, I..."  
  
"Afura! Shayla!"  
  
Justen wondered for a moment if Ifurita had even bothered to look at the  
creature in the cage before running to greet her old friends. The Champion  
started admonishing the Elder Sisters sternly, but quickly bear-hugged the  
two of them instead. "Oh, you stupid, silly girls! I was worried sick  
after Makoto told me he sent you out here! Just look at you! What in  
Heaven's name have you been doing?"  
  
"Would you believe tracking bear?" Shayla quipped.  
  
"We even brought you back a souvenir," Afura added, inclining her head  
towards the cage.  
  
Ifurita looked at the creature as if noticing it for the first time. "Yes,  
I would say you have," she said with genuine surprise.  
  
Kenamabad cleared his throat. "Oh," Ifurita said as she realized she had  
interrupted him. "Forgive the disruption, Doctor."  
  
"If this thing was once a Dorian merchant I can't begin to guess what malady  
could have brought this on," the veteran field surgeon went on. "Those  
rapier-sharp claws seem to have replaced the man's fingernails, and his skin  
has hardened into the segmented platelets you see. Nearly three decades  
practicing medicine, I've never seen any kind of poison or disease that  
produced such pronounced deformation."  
  
Ifurita stared intently at the thing for several moments. "Doctor, have you  
ruled out that this might be an ordinary citizen the Ceruleans used for some  
bizarre experiment?"  
  
"They wouldn't commit such atrocities, m'lady. I can vouch for them."  
  
Everyone turned behind them toward where the voice had come. Justen watched  
Ifurita's jaw drop open as she stared at the man behind Shayla. He could  
only imagine her internal struggle as she looked at the tall man with long  
graying hair now standing next to Shayla, holding her hand in his. His  
other arm was bound to him tightly in a sling meant to immobilize his  
shoulder. The cuts and bruises that had covered his face were only now  
beginning to heal.  
  
"Rilikan?" she breathed at last. "B-but I th-thought--"  
  
The man looked to be in better shape than the two priestesses, though Justen  
could see he had been at death's door. It had probably been some time  
before he had even been able to walk. "M'lady, I need to tell you  
something," he said, turning towards his commanding officer. His face  
suddenly became grim as he surveyed the gathered officers and priestesses.  
  
"Everything we presumed to know is wrong."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	16. Rough Justice Ch 16

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------  
Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-------  
Sixteen  
-------  
  
Makoto found himself strumming absently at his guitar. It was a gift from  
his parents, one given him many years ago. It had replaced a six-string  
acoustic whose neck had warped so badly he could barely finger a proper F  
chord anymore. And now this one was beginning to show its age.  
  
This twelve-string Yamaha acoustic had become an escape for him. In the  
months leading up to the Cerulean offensive, Ifurita's role as Queen's  
Champion had called her away all the more. Sometimes she was gone from the  
Palace for days at a time. He supposed no one noticed how lonely he felt  
while she was away; he was careful to keep himself occupied with one thing  
or other. One day he would busy himself arguing with Traugot about the  
workings of ancient technology, the next he would haggle endlessly with  
Asdic over another relic or old book for his collection. Of course Shayla,  
Afura and Qawool had always been pleasant company when their duties  
permitted. Ruefully Makoto recalled he had always been welcome in the  
Fujisawa home.  
  
But more often than not lately they each became busy with their own lives.  
They didn't always have time to share with him. It was at these times when  
he had felt the loneliest. As time passed, evening found Makoto more often  
than not right here in his study, picking away.  
  
He strummed slowly and deliberately, picking the chords of a tune he had  
known for years. Makoto especially liked how it came out on his  
twelve-string. After playing the intro for what seemed like an hour, he  
finally changed up and began to sing.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
So...  
  
So you think you can tell  
heaven from hell?  
  
Blue skies from pain?  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He's such a sorry sap, Nanami thought as she entered Makoto's study.  
  
The former Palace Eyes still called in favors from the Palace Guard. But  
she loved them like an extended family; to wit, they had seen to it her  
husband was being well-treated during his incarceration. So she was almost  
always given leave to roam the Palace as she pleased.  
  
Of late she had hardly seen Makoto at all. That was unusual, to be sure.  
They had been friends for so long Nanami had a hard time recalling a time  
she hadn't known him. Hardly a week went by when he hadn't visited her at  
her café. The silly idiot didn't even know when to disappear when Shevlin  
had come a-courting.  
  
Even though Makoto could sometimes be as dumb as a box of rocks, he had  
keenly picked up on Nanami's anger the last time she had seen him. As they  
watched her restaurant being gutted by fire, she had been so angry. At her  
husband for not fleeing when he had the chance. At herself for not being  
more insistent he do so. At Rune and al-Farsi for sanctioning the Cerulean  
offensive. At Ifurita for steamrollering over people like Shevlin -- the  
very people Ifurita had implored Rune grant asylum to a decade past. And  
most of all, she found herself mad at Makoto for letting Ifurita do it.  
  
But in these last several days she had begun to take stock in herself. She  
hadn't slept much the night her restaurant had burned. When she finally did  
manage to get some sleep, it was at Asdic's house. He and Jilyn had  
solicited donations from the Floristican Merchant's Guild to help her get  
back on her feet. Her employees had one at a time stopped by to say they  
would be willing to stay on if she would have them. And Kanemon of the  
Roshtarian League of Builders even went so far as to offer his people's  
talents free of charge.  
  
With so many people coming forward to help her in her time of need, her  
anger had vanished. Despite the challenges both she and her husband had  
faced, she felt there might be a happy ending to it all. But her stomach  
had ached when she considered how she had been treating Makoto lately.  
After all, it wasn't his fault he was such a pushover.  
  
Her conscience had been bothering her for a couple days now. She had been  
so rude to him, when all he had been trying to do was to show his support.  
Sure he was a hero from the Bugrom War, but Rune still sat upon the throne.  
This whole business of detaining Shevlin hadn't been Makoto's doing, yet she  
had been treating him as though it was. She had come here to apologize,  
and, she had to admit, she had been feeling lonely herself.  
  
Both of them were Terrans who now had stronger ties to El Hazard than to  
their own home world. Both of them had fallen for alien lovers. And now  
cruel, cruel Fate conspired to keep their soul mates from them. Maybe she  
came here just because she knew Makoto would understand like no one else  
could.  
  
Nanami listened as she walked past the several tables in between the massive  
bookcases that lined the walls of Makoto's study. Several books had been  
opened and laid out on the tables, leaving empty spaces in the collection of  
volumes neatly stacked in the bookcase separating Makoto's library and his  
living room. She glanced up, smiling as she saw him through one of the  
spaces.  
  
He had his back to her as he stared out onto the stone balcony. Even though  
she had heard Makoto sing this song many times before, it seemed  
particularly fitting at the moment. She was sure Makoto missed Ifurita as  
much as she missed Shevlin.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Can you tell a green field  
from a cold steel rail?  
  
A smile from a veil?  
  
Do you think you can tell?  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Shepherds and farmers for years to come would tell tales of the meteor which  
streaked across the sky that night.  
  
But the only being on El Hazard that was capable of supersonic flight paid  
no attention to the stir she caused as she made a beeline for the Palace.  
  
Ifurita felt more like a Demon-God -- destroyer of civilizations! -- than  
the Queen's Champion. It was a title that Rune herself had bestowed upon  
her even before the Princess had ascended to the throne. She had sworn to  
protect her new home, the place where she lived with Makoto and his friends.  
But at the moment, she doubted her worthiness to bear the title at all.  
  
She had been overjoyed to see Rilikan and the Elder Sisters alive and well,  
though her joy had quickly turned to despair as they told their tale. It  
was exactly as Rilikan had said: everything she had supposed to know was a  
lie. Makoto and Nanami had been telling her that all along, albeit not in  
so many words. She had simply refused to listen.  
  
Centuries ago, the ancient warmongers had created her to carry out their  
destructive whims. For many years she had killed because she had been  
ordered to. But this time was different. These past few weeks she had  
killed again of her own free will. This time the blood of innocents truly  
was on her hands. She had nobody else to blame.  
  
Her rage and her pain from losing Miz, from losing Masamichi, from having to  
tell their daughter her parents were dead -- it had been more than she could  
bear. The thought of allowing herself to become that soulless killing  
machine once again reviled her. Maybe it would be better for everyone if  
she were imprisoned once again in the island tomb where she had lain for  
centuries.  
  
The tears welling up in her eyes evaporated the moment she blinked them  
away. Ifurita streaked across the sky at top speed, knowing what she had to  
do now.  
  
And hoping, no, praying, rather, her friends and countrymen would find it in  
their hearts to forgive her misdeeds.  
  
Maybe then she could begin to forgive herself.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And did they get you to trade  
your heroes for ghosts?  
  
Hot ashes for trees?  
  
Hot air for a cool breeze?  
  
Cold comfort for change?  
  
And did you exchange  
a walk-on part in the war  
for a lead role in a cage?  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nanami shook her head as she surveyed the tables in Makoto's study.  
  
Every one of them was piled high with schematics, sketches, books, and junk  
she couldn't even begin to recognize. Just because you're lonely, Makoto,  
doesn't give you license to be such a slob!  
  
The first thing she picked up was a bottle of liquor, which she shook  
slightly to see if it was empty. There were several more empty bottles on  
the table. This was not a good sign. Shayla and her new beau could  
certainly go through this much liquor in a week. But this many bottles of  
hard stuff would normally last Makoto a year.  
  
As she spun the bottle around she noted it was an empty bottle of vinou.  
Fujisawa's favorite, she thought somberly.  
  
Makoto continued singing and playing, seemingly oblivious of her staring  
wistfully at him. Nanami was content to just watch him for a while. She  
hummed the tune under her breath, not loud enough for him to hear for she  
didn't want to interrupt. At length the lyrics ended. Makoto played the  
mournful chords for some time before slowly fading away.  
  
"It's been a while since I've heard you play."  
  
Makoto started, before turning to face her. She certainly must have  
startled him, though the reading glasses on his nose always made his eyes  
look bigger than they really were. He put down the guitar and stood up as  
his look of surprise morphed into one of awkwardness. She could just  
imagine his mind being paralyzed by fear of saying the wrong thing. She  
gallantly saved him by giving him something to focus on.  
  
"Did you really go through all this in the past week?" she asked him while  
hefting up the empty bottle.  
  
He shook his head. "Only half of it. The rest went out the window."  
  
Nanami did not even need to ask for whom the drinks sacrificed to the winds  
were intended. "Still trying to drink Sensei under the table, are you? Why  
don't you just give it up, Makoto? Shayla was the only one who could even  
come close, you know that."  
  
Makoto smirked. "Well, you know how it is, Nan. Sensei just doesn't know  
when to quit."  
  
"Don't we know it," she chuckled.  
  
Makoto seemed suddenly troubled by a thought. "Just how long have you been  
standing there?"  
  
"Not long enough to hear the whole song. I'd like it though if you'd play  
it again." She walked across the room and took a seat beside him on the  
couch. "Maybe I'm just getting old. I've been waxing nostalgic thinking of  
music from the old country. I know bringing our CDs over here is a no-no."  
  
Makoto smiled again and obliged her. But before too long the song was over.  
  
"I'm just kind of fooling around playing tonight, Nan. Have another  
request?"  
  
"No, Makoto, not really," she replied. "I just felt like I needed some  
company, that's all."  
  
The companionable silence that followed was unlike the silence following his  
noticing her watching him. In this moment, Nanami found herself thinking  
everything could be okay again.  
  
If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then someday.  
  
Then that damned Demon-God ruined it all by landing on the windowsill. She  
looked positively horrified to see Nanami sitting there with Makoto.  
  
That was the last straw! It wasn't enough that Ifurita had put Shevlin in  
jail and done everything she could to demonize his people. Now on top of  
everything else, was this melancholy maven actually feeling jealous? Was  
she expecting Makoto to sit here alone in his room, pining for her while she  
was off on another noble crusade?  
  
Nanami took to her feet, knowing for certain if she stayed any longer she  
would say something that she would regret later. "I'm sure you two will  
want to be alone," she said in a strained voice. Averting her eyes, Nanami  
turned and made for the door.  
  
A moment later she started, feeling a hand on her shoulder. She had heard  
no footsteps; that damned Demon-God must have flown up behind her.  
  
"Nanami, wait--"  
  
She whirled around and slapped the wretched, soulless thing's face with all  
her might. Gritting her teeth, she realized she likely hurt her hand far  
more than it hurt her target. But she was angry enough not to care.  
  
"Whatever the hell you do, Ifurita, don't you dare try and tell me that  
you're sorry!"  
  
Moments later she was storming through the corridors, making for the closest  
portal with which to exit the Palace. The guards she had greeted cheerily  
minutes earlier now withered under her anger as though it were a powerful  
aura following in her wake.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
How I wish  
how I wish you were here.  
  
We're just two lost souls  
swimming in a fishbowl  
year after year.  
  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Makoto watched in horror as Nanami stomped loudly out of the room. Ifurita  
stood mute before him, one hand holding her staff, the other holding her  
slapped cheek. Just a moment ago he had allowed himself to hope that things  
were going to be okay between them -- the two people he cared for most on  
two worlds. Now it had fallen apart all over again.  
  
Ifurita collapsed to the ground.  
  
Makoto cried her name as he ran to her side. Propping herself up on one  
elbow, he saw her ivory face frozen into a mask of utter shock. Her veil  
had fallen off as she fell, sending her long silvery locks tumbling down  
over her eyes. He took her hand in his and cradled her face. Without  
warning, their telepathic link -- the joining of minds and feelings that had  
first brought them together so many years ago -- opened up before him.  
  
Makoto's mind reeled as an image from time gone by flashed before him.  
Ifurita looked the same as she ever had, though Nanami was much younger.  
They were sharing a bath in the apartment they were living in back in Japan.  
From this safe house, they had prepared for their final confrontation with  
the Phantom Tribe and their deposed leader, Galus. The fate of Earth itself  
had hung in the balance.  
  
"No, no, that's not it," the younger Nanami sighed. "Ifurita, I don't trust  
you to look after Makoto because you're a Demon-God, I trust you because I  
*know* you. You're the most honest, faithful friend I've ever had. Why do  
you think everyone is looking to you to lead us against the Phantom Tribe?  
Yes, I know there are all sorts of practical reasons; you've got centuries  
of combat experience and all that. But people don't trust weapons, at least  
not people with any sense. They only give that sort of trust to people who  
have earned it."  
  
Then more images, these very new and fresh in Ifurita's mind. He saw Afura  
and Shayla, bruised but not broken. And he saw Cyrano Rilikan, worse for  
wear but very much alive, speaking stern words to his commander. Makoto  
could feel her surprise turn to horror as Rilikan's words began to sink in.  
  
"...they must have left me for dead, the Ceruleans found me floating..."  
  
"...everything we presumed to know is wrong..."  
  
"...creatures like the one in this cage captured Laria and nearly killed  
me..."  
  
"...the Phantom Tribe is innocent; the real threat lies elsewhere!"  
  
"...we have been played for fools, Champion..."  
  
And then Makoto blinked. He pulled his hand away from her face, breaking  
their link. As his eyes came back into focus, his heart fell seeing her  
like this. This was not the great and terrible Demon-God she had been when  
he had seen her entombed on the Forbidden Island. This was not the face of  
the cold and calculating Empress of Destruction who in service to his old  
rival Jinnai had handily defeated the Great Priestesses. And this was not  
the face he had come to love as she discovered a wonderful new existence  
with him at her side. Ifurita was the visage of misery. She looked like a  
scared little girl, coming home at last to admit her wrongdoing.  
  
Tears left tracks of silver down her cheeks. She clung to him desperately,  
making no move to get up off the floor. "My Voices even told me that I was  
wrong," she sobbed, her voice muffled as she buried her face in his chest.  
She seemed to be talking mostly to herself. "Right from the start, they  
told me that the evidence must have been planted. The one time that I  
should have listened to them, I did not.  
  
"Makoto," she said at last in between sobs, "I have made a horrible mistake.  
I-I do not deserve the trust that any of you have placed in me."  
  
"Love", he said, trying to shush her, "it will be all right. Everything  
will be all right."  
  
"I wanted to tell Nanami that she was right all along," Ifurita wailed. "I  
have vented my fury against innocent people, Makoto! I have betrayed my  
Queen, my oath, and my friends! I-I no longer deserve to be called  
'Champion'."  
  
"Ifurita, listen to me," he said, shaking her shoulders roughly to get her  
to look at him. "If what Rilikan told you is true, then Rune needs you more  
than ever. She would never accept your resignation. Not now."  
  
She nodded, silently agreeing with him. "But Makoto", she said while her  
lip trembled, "I do not know if Nanami will ever forgive me."  
  
With that she broke down once again. "She will, love," he cooed into her  
ear as he held her to him. If Nanami can forgive me for being so spineless,  
he thought darkly, most surely she can forgive you.  
  
If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then someday.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Runnin' over the same old ground  
what have we found  
the same old fears...  
  
...wish you were here...  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Song lyrics credit  
  
"Wish You Were Here," _Wish You Were Here_, Pink Floyd  
  
(c) 1974 Pink Floyd Music Publishers Ltd.  
Roger Waters Music Overseas Ltd. (Artemis BV)  
Used without permission  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 


	17. Rough Justice Ch 17

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------  
Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
---------  
Seventeen  
---------  
  
Princess Fatora picked another morsel off the long serving tray spread out  
before her and popped it in her mouth. "Mmmm. This is really great."  
  
The serving tray smiled up at her. "Have you tried one of these, mistress?"  
  
"No, not yet." Fatora picked up the delicate little fruit pastry Lucine  
pointed at and took a bite out of it. "Oh, right out of the oven. Still  
piping hot."  
  
Lucine laid her arm over head, where her black hair spilled across the  
table, being careful to otherwise stay very still. "It is my pleasure to  
keep your dinner warm for you, mistress."  
  
And so she was. Fatora had come into the room to find a feast arrayed  
across Lucine's freshly scrubbed and oiled abdomen and thighs, practically  
covering her. She had already gobbled up about half of it. "Damn, you  
really overdid it this time."  
  
Lucine licked her lips. "The dessert awaits my mistress when she has  
finished the main course."  
  
"Naughty girl. Why don't you help me out, then?"  
  
"With pleasure, mistress." Lucine selected a morsel of barbecued meat  
wrapped in bacon off a spot just next to her navel, and dropped it into her  
mouth. Fatora smiled, imagining the scene when the serving-wenches came to  
deliver the food Lucine had ordered for them, to find out exactly what -- or  
rather who -- her concubine was planning to serve it on. Lucine never  
abused the staff, but they were terrified of her none the less. They never  
knew what to expect from her. Fatora reflected wistfully how convincing any  
of the wenches to come to their bed for a threesome was becoming  
increasingly difficult. No great loss, she figured. With the possible  
exception of the Demon-God, she believed Lucine to be the most luscious dish  
on the planet. As if to make her own point, here was her favorite concubine  
proving again her flair for the dramatic. She wasn't at all like  
Alielle--that boring, unfaithful little sow Alielle.  
  
"I was almost going to ask Onesan to have dinner in my rooms tonight,"  
Fatora chuckled. "I'm glad I decided against it. Imagine what she would  
have thought, seeing you like this."  
  
"Perhaps her Majesty dines from the King's body this evening?"  
  
Fatora scrunched up her nose, clearly disgusted with such a mental picture.  
"Ewwww! You mean with his hairy chest and all? Don't be obscene, my dear!  
Those two are frisky enough, but they're certainly not what I'd call daring.  
Anyway, I figure they'd want to be alone tonight. They're a lot happier  
today, now that Justen's been recalled."  
  
"Your nephew is returning?"  
  
"Mmm hmm." Fatora settled more comfortably on her enormous silk cushion,  
scooped up her gilded goblet and took a good swig of wine. "Whole legion is  
pulling out. Probably be back day after tomorrow. The official word is  
they buried all the caves where the Ceruleans were making their bombs. But  
I know better."  
  
"Were the Mountaineers defeated?"  
  
"Hardly," Fatora snorted. "All they found was a bunch of mushroom farmers.  
They could have left the Demon-God here at the Palace. They just ran out of  
Ceruleans to round up, that's all. Now the regular army can move in to keep  
order. So we got what we want."  
  
"What we want?"  
  
"Geynosanium, girl, tons and tons of it. Enough to make levitation engines  
for a whole new fleet of cruisers. A fleet under the direct control of the  
Roshtarian royal family!" she beamed. "Onesan may act like a wuss, but she  
really knows how to play the game." Fatora couldn't help but feel a sense  
of pride in her sister, even if Rune couldn't appreciate the finer things in  
life.  
  
"And what of our revenge against the Ceruleans?"  
  
"Oh, don't get me wrong. Those blue-skinned bastards had this coming for a  
long time. It's just too bad we didn't kill more of them before we called  
off the dogs. I guess the survivors will get put somewhere we can keep a  
close watch on them. Maybe we can find more losers like Nanami to marry  
them off to. Before long they won't even remember how to do all that  
illusionist crap. Then they'll just fade away into the annals of history,  
like they should have a long time ago."  
  
"I wonder why your nephew was recalled so early, though. It seems odd."  
  
Fatora shrugged. "Onesan wouldn't say much. They found something that made  
them think the bombs weren't made in Cerulea, something like that."  
  
Lucine's face changed subtly, as if that was a really interesting bit of  
news. "Where, then?"  
  
"Who knows? Tribesmen are like fungus. You pull up a rock anywhere and you  
are likely as not to find some."  
  
Lucine giggled, which set their dinner lightly jiggling. "True enough.  
Your sister nearly had one in her bed."  
  
"Oh, don't remind me. Mmmm, these are really good." Fatora reached down  
and squeezed. "And what was underneath it is pretty nice too."  
  
"But My Lady has not finished the main course yet," Lucine cooed.  
  
"Don't worry, I'll be eating you up soon enough, you little scamp. I'll  
just bet you taste -- hey!"  
  
Fatora fell back into her cushion, barely missing getting smacked by Lucine  
as she shot up off the table. The remains of their dinner were sent  
scattering all over.  
  
"You stupid girl!" Fatora snarled. "I wasn't done with that yet!" But her  
anger quickly turned to alarm as she regarded her concubine. Lucine stood  
poised at the edge of the table on her fingertips and the balls of her feet,  
as if she were preparing to leap up into the air. Her head was cocked and  
her brow furrowed as if she were listening for something. Sobering up in a  
hurry -- a trick perfected after years of practice -- Fatora listened  
herself for whatever Lucine appeared to be so interested in.  
  
"What is it?" she said in a small voice while looking nervously around the  
room. "Do you hear something?" All this talk of the Phantom Tribe had made  
her quite paranoid.  
  
Lucine did not answer for a long while. But when she did, Fatora knew that  
something was very wrong. "Yes," Lucine said slowly in an alarmingly rough,  
hissing voice. Lucine's whole body shuddered violently again and again, and  
her breathing came in gasps. Her skin seemed to be getting darker. Fatora  
fought down growing panic. Gods, had they been poisoned? Should she call  
for the doctors?  
  
Then Lucine grinned evilly, locking eyes with her as a serpent would its  
prey. Fatora instinctively backed off the cushion, crab-crawling onto the  
marble floor. Lucine followed her every move, slowly crawling off the table  
and across the cushion. Each hand and foot was placed very precisely and  
deliberately; never once did Lucine's eyes to wander from hers.  
  
"Lucine, what the hell is wrong with you?" Fatora wailed. "What are you  
doing? This isn't funny!" But Lucine appeared as though she wasn't  
listening. The concubine continued her advance, knees and elbows held high  
like some grotesque contortionist display, step after step after step.  
Quite by accident Fatora backed into the bed, her head bumping painfully  
against the heavy wood baseboard. She wrapped her arms around the bedpost  
and pulled herself up to a crouching position. "Stop this! Don't come near  
me! That's an order!" Lucine was salivating all over the floor as she  
advanced, her eyes bulging. Slowly, she raised her body up and reached out  
for Fatora with a hand that seemed to be too long and knobby.  
  
Fatora pulled the little knife that she and Alielle had hidden in the  
baseboard compartment years ago and slashed across the extended arm. A  
piercing, inhuman shriek expressing all the pain and rage of a wounded  
animal reverberated through the chamber -- the very chamber Fatora herself  
had ordered soundproofed. She bolted, half-running, half-crawling across  
the bed and to the pull-cord that would bring help. Her hand flailed  
helplessly mere inches away from the cord after Lucine grabbed her robe from  
behind. With a flick of her inhuman-looking hand, Lucine sent her sailing  
across the room. Fatora managed to hit feet-first and roll, but tumbled and  
came down on her back. She cried out, dumbly wondering how her little stunt  
could have hurt so much.  
  
The Princess Regent tried scrambling up again, but a twisted ankle buckled  
under her weight. She looked wildly back towards the bed. Lucine was on  
her feet now, shuffling towards her. She looked ghastly. Her skin had  
puffed out and turned purple like she had been dead for days. Her hair was  
sloughing off, cascading down at each lumbering step, leaving a black trail  
behind her. Fatora's blasted mind backed her instinctively into a corner,  
heedless of other concealed weapons or avenues of escape. She cowered  
there, whimpering, watching this thing advancing upon her. A few feet away  
it dropped down on all fours again, and went into a new set of convulsions.  
The skin looked more like chitinous armor now; her face was utterly  
unrecognizable as Fatora's favorite concubine.  
  
"I have a message from God-Emperor Jinnai," the thing said in a rasping  
voice. The words were barely understandable, emerging from lips and gums  
that had fused into a leathery beak while its few remaining teeth tinkled to  
the floor. "Daddy says that because you have the same ugly face as that  
damnable Mizuhara, he wants me to eat it off your skull before you die."  
Fatora sobbed and looked up helplessly as the thing drew itself up to its  
full height. Its convulsions were coming to an end, and its breathing was  
strong and steady. Whatever horrid metamorphosis Lucine had gone through  
was complete. She reached out for Fatora with a pair of hands that had  
grown long, slim claws from under the sloughed-off fingernails.  
  
There was a tremendous impact right next to Fatora's left ear and she  
screamed, throwing her arms up over her head in response to a hail of sharp,  
stinging impacts. A moment later she peeked out from between her crossed  
arms, trying to make sense of what she saw. Two big glass globes hung in  
the air before her. An ornately-carved staff had impaled itself in the  
marble wall to her left, leaving a pattern of cracks resembling a spider's  
web. At her right, the staff ended in a sort of key.  
  
Like a finger, the familiar staff pointed back towards its master -- the  
powerful and terrible Demon-God.  
  
Ifurita stood in a relaxed state of readiness, her arms held loosely at her  
side. She was staring at Lucine, whose attention had been diverted by the  
staff interposing between her and her prey. Ifurita's expression was akin  
to a restaurateur finding a cockroach in her kitchen -- an insect needing to  
be exterminated. In an unhurried motion, she raised one gloved hand and  
crooked her finger in a come--hither gesture.  
  
The effect on the thing Lucine had become was dramatic. It hissed loudly  
and went down into a crouch, now completely ignoring Fatora. Whatever was  
in that bald, misshapen skull, whatever was left of Lucine's mind, seemed to  
understand it was being challenged. The monster charged Ifurita at  
impossible speed, its sticky feet playing a gruesome staccato across the  
marble floor. So sudden was the attack Fatora feared Ifurita might be  
shredded before she could even move. But the Demon-God met the monster's  
fury with quick, precise defensive moves, blocking and parrying the slice  
and thrust of gleaming claws. Where Lucine growled and hissed, Ifurita was  
silent. Where Lucine threw her weight extravagantly into each blow, Ifurita  
seemed hardly to move at all, merely having each limb in the exactly right  
place to parry each attack. For a few horrible moments, Fatora witnessed  
animal rage being thrown against machine precision.  
  
Fatora did not see but instead heard the meaty impact that sent Lucine  
reeling. The character of their struggle changed all in an instant.  
Ifurita was not a person but a phenomenon, a raging whirlwind that drove all  
before it with irresistible force. The form Lucine had taken did not seem  
at all suited to defense. Lucine offered all the resistance a rag doll  
might a raging child. Ifurita landed a spin-kick to Lucine's head, sending  
her flying with enough force that she appeared as little more than a purple  
blur. She smashed against a wall, leaving a mark to rival the one left by  
Ifurita's staff, then bounced to the floor with a sickening thud. With a  
loud cry, Ifurita leapt up into the air and came down upon Lucine's broken  
and quivering form. The Demon-God's outstretched fingers drove into  
Lucine's abdomen like a spear. There was a horrid squishing noise as  
torrents of blood squirted in every direction. Lucine convulsed once before  
going limp.  
  
Ifurita stood up straight and walked towards where Fatora lay cowering in  
the corner. She walked with easy precision, appearing to be in no hurry.  
Her gunmetal gray and black uniform was drenched in blood whose color was  
wrong in a way that Fatora would never be able to articulate. Ifurita's  
contented expression resembled the afterglow Fatora saw in her concubines'  
eyes after making love. She grasped her staff, withdrew it from the wall  
and stood it upright on the floor. Fatora looked up into the steel-blue  
eyes of the woman she would forevermore regard as the One True Goddess of  
Desire and Destruction.  
  
"Are you hurt, Your Majesty?" the Goddess asked, addressing her.  
  
Fatora just shook her head, still cringing and shaking. Somehow, the  
thought of mentioning that her ankle hurt seemed like an unforgivable lapse  
into triviality.  
  
"This appears to be the last of them," Ifurita said without even a backwards  
glance toward where Lucine lay in a pool of her own blood. "I am sorry I  
did not arrive sooner."  
  
"The last of what?" Fatora asked in a little quavering voice.  
  
"Bugrom sleepers. There were two others here in the Palace, and we already  
have reports of several being put down elsewhere in the city. They were all  
activated at once, presumably by the ultrasonic signal I heard a few minutes  
ago."  
  
Fatora remembered Lucine leaping from her dinner table, listening to  
something she herself could not hear. Her mind simply could not yet  
comprehend everything that had just happened. It was impossible to  
associate that vision of perfect womanhood with the thing that lay broken  
across the room. Absently she noted that several guards had entered the  
room. They were trying not to look in Fatora's direction. She barely had  
the presence of mind to gather up the robe that had spilled open and cover  
herself. "Two... you said, two others?"  
  
"Yes. One failed to kill your sister before I dispatched it." Ifurita's  
face became grim, as if for the first time she was saying something of some  
import. "She is unhurt. But I was too late to prevent the third sleeper  
from killing Londs."  
  
Fatora felt as though someone had driven a knife through her stomach. Londs  
had been a central figure in Fatora's world for as long as she could  
remember. "Londs?" she whimpered.  
  
"Al-Farsi tried to save him," Ifurita said, closing her eyes. "It seems the  
minister is in the habit of carrying a sidearm. The creature was hardly  
even slowed down, and it nearly killed him too. He tried to buy me some  
time, but I am deeply disturbed to report it was not enough.  
  
"Then I came straight here," Ifurita concluded in the manner of an  
afterthought.  
  
It would be so easy to become hysterical, but Fatora consolidated the  
remains of her pride and faced the Demon-God. "Lucine was a Bugrom? How  
can that be?"  
  
"We encountered one in Cerulea as well, a type we had never seen before. I  
am sure these are the same; the smell of Bugrom blood is unmistakable.  
Lucine and the others passed our background checks. We did not suspect them  
because we did not know what to look for." Ifurita finally looked in the  
direction of where Lucine's terrible form lay dead and sighed. "And now we  
do. We can guess how they managed to manhandle the bombs into the  
amphitheater, for they are immensely strong. Your Majesty, did the Bugrom  
say anything to you after it manifested?"  
  
The word 'manifested' could hardly describe the horror that Fatora had just  
experienced. She was sure to take it to her grave. She woodenly recited  
Lucine's last words while Ifurita listened attentively.  
  
"Interesting," Ifurita replied as she cocked her head. The Demon-God  
extended a hand down to Fatora, but retracted it quickly. Placing her staff  
in her other hand, Ifurita offered to help Fatora up with the glove not  
slimed with Lucine's innards. "Come, I am sure your sister will want to see  
that you are unhurt."  
  
After she hobbled for just a few moments, Princess Fatora's maidservants  
quickly brought a small palanquin for her. When she and Rune were in  
private Fatora broke down and cried into her bosom for what seemed like  
hours. At least here was one pillar of her world she could depend upon,  
even when the rest were crashing down around her.  
  
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	18. Rough Justice Ch 18

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
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Eighteen  
--------  
  
He looked up as the barkeep walked out the door of his little tavern,  
carrying a tray of drinks out to the customers sitting at the little round  
tables outside. "Last round, gentlemen," the big, beefy man rumbled  
sternly.  
  
The young man sitting alone at the corner table smiled and nodded as the  
barkeep placed the little glass of expensive liqueur at his table. This was  
more of an ale-drinkers' tavern; to wit, the bottle of Dorosian twenty-five  
year rum had probably been gathering dust for nearly that long. The tavern  
saw little variety in the clientele. Usually only noisy, laughing men with  
tankards of ale before them could be found here. The barkeep must have been  
wondering why someone such as him -- slight, effete, and well-dressed with  
fuscia-streaked black hair -- would come to a place like his. And then pay  
more for one drink than what another round for everyone in the place would  
have cost!  
  
The reason was simple; this place afforded him the best view. To one side,  
the narrow street with its shops and taverns came to an end at the city  
wall. The whitewashed stone towered over the buildings of the frontier  
city, capped here by a watchtower with a gun emplacement. To the other  
side, the road intersected one of the major thoroughfares that ran from one  
end of the walled city to the other. The taverns here were for the benefit  
of laborers looking for a quick drink after their shift, they would soon be  
closed to leave the road to the warehouse district open for the nightly  
procession of lorries. Only the taverns on the other side of town stayed  
open late. But that was of little consequence; what he had come to see  
would be arriving soon enough.  
  
He barely even raised an eyebrow as the piercing ultrasonic signal assaulted  
his ears. While the men around him just went on drinking and talking, in  
the distance Napoleon heard a dog whining piteously. Its master would  
surely be wondering what had suddenly got into the stupid beast, but he knew  
his plan was now underway.  
  
Nearby him, one of the tables suddenly went quiet. The four men all wore  
identical tunics, identifying them as longshoremen from one of the  
warehouses. "Hey newbie, what's the matter?" one of the four men said as  
their junior man tried to steady himself with hands on the table. "Can't  
hold your ale, huh?" the man continued as the three of them enjoyed a  
chuckle at the junior man's expense.  
  
Their smiles slowly faded as he started to shake and convulse. Gurgling  
sounds emanated from the junior man's throat and his eyes bulged  
horribly. "Reynol, are you sick?" another of his companions asked.  
  
"Is he allergic to ale?", the first man asked.  
  
"Can't be, we brought him drinking last night," the other answered.  
  
"Geez, Kayne, he really looks like shit," the last man said.  
  
The observant barkeep walked quickly over to see what was causing such his  
customers to be so remiss. "Hey, what the Seven Hells is..."  
  
His voice trailed off as everyone in the bar watched the young man's  
metamorphosis in shocked silence.  
  
"Oh, Gods," a horrified man at the next table whimpered before clamping his  
hands to his mouth and noisily retching. The young man at the corner table  
simply smiled and sipped at his drink unnoticed.  
  
The thing that had been the young man they called Reynol grabbed the front  
of its tunic in knobbly claws and tore it away from its dark, hardening skin  
before raising its beaked head high and screaming terribly. All of his  
companions backed away, one of them tripping over his stool and falling  
back. "Bugrom!", somebody cried before everyone in bar started shouting at  
once. The barkeep's companion came out the door with a truncheon in hand,  
no doubt having expected to see a fight in progress. He just gaped at the  
hissing, writhing monstrosity that was glaring at the bewildered men around  
it.  
  
The cries of alarm became louder as two more creatures, identical to this  
one, came sprinting down the narrow road. They shot right by, little more  
than blurred shadows in the dim light of the glowlamps. Soon after they had  
passed, the one at the table leaped straight over the heads of the bar's  
bewildered patrons. It landed loudly the cobblestone street, then tore off  
after its companions toward the city wall. The moonlight made it easy to  
pick out their dark shapes scrambling up the whitewashed wall, apparently  
using nothing but their claws.  
  
Screams and gunfire began to echo across the city. Some of the men at the  
tavern ran in one direction, some in another, others stood around and argued  
loudly about what was going on and what they ought to do. One of them  
pointed to the top of the wall and shouted a warning. Two soldiers were  
running across the top of the wall, behind the battlements, but were stopped  
short when one of the Bugrom pulled itself to the top of the wall right  
beside them. They both fired their carbines, knocking the creature off the  
wall and sending it plummeting. Two more came to take its place, then two  
more. They closed in and the soldiers were overwhelmed. Without any fuss,  
the Bugrom tossed them over the edge and rushed the watchtower, scrambling  
over it like ants.  
  
Four helmeted soldiers with carbines came running past the tavern as the  
patrons cheered and shouted encouragement to them. Then the six Bugrom who  
had been chasing the soldiers came shooting past and two more leapt down  
from the rooftops, cutting off their retreat. A couple of them managed to  
get off a shot though it hardly seemed to slow the Bugrom down. Then the  
soldiers disappeared behind a mass of black shadows moving with inhuman  
speed, howling and slashing. As one, all the men at the tavern turned and  
ran in the other direction, screaming in panic.  
  
The young man at the corner table took another sip of his drink, calmly  
watching as the Bugrom soldiers advanced. His eyes could only see what was  
happening at this point of the city wall, but his ears told him the rest.  
There was small-arms fire from all directions, but in a matter of minutes it  
had been silenced, replaced by a general bedlam as people in the city  
reacted to the sounds of battle. This warehouse district was more or less  
deserted for the moment, so he had this little street all to himself now.  
  
After a few more minutes, a Bugrom approached him and bowed. Its face  
markings identified it as the commander of the assault force for this city.  
"Lord Napoleon, we have achieved all our objectives as scheduled."  
  
The young man's lip curled into a sly smile, knowing what his commander's  
succinct report truly meant. The city wall and all its gun emplacements had  
been taken. The city gates were secured and closed. The city's key  
resources - reservoir and granary - were in their hands. The local garrison  
had been wiped out. And the Bugrom still had ninety percent of their forces  
intact.  
  
"Splendid. No doubt we will soon be receiving good news from our brothers  
in the nearest cities. Keep me informed."  
  
"Of course, My Lord," the Bugrom officer replied before running back the way  
he had come.  
  
Napoleon walked back into the tavern, scanning the bar as if looking for  
something. Finding what he was looking for, he snatched the little bottle  
of Dorosian rum from behind the bar and returned with it to his table. He  
poured himself another drink before raising his glass as if proposing a  
toast.  
  
"It appears you were right again, Father. The Rostarians played into our  
hands just like you and Mother Diva said they would. The damnable Mizuhara  
and his Demon bitch will know that we, the House of Jinnai, have led them to  
their downfall!"  
  
The now-empty street echoed with maniacal laughter.  
  
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	19. Rough Justice Ch 19

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
----------------------------------  
Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
----------------------------------  
  
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
--------  
Nineteen  
--------  
  
Makoto and Ifurita entered the war room at the appointed hour. The door  
opened onto a balcony surrounding the cavernous room, affording them a view  
of the vast map that covered the floor far below. A bridge extended out  
over the middle of the room upon which the acting Chamberlain awaited.  
  
Al-Farsi smiled and greeted them. Makoto knew not just which badge of honor  
the man was more proud of, the office he had inherited from Londs, or the  
sling holding his broken arm. Word had spread quickly throughout the Palace  
how he had been injured trying to protect his predecessor, though he had  
quickly wearied of hearing al-Farsi repeatedly downplay his heroism. Even  
now several scars and bruises remained on the new Chamberlain's face,  
leaving no question of the savage punishment the Bugrom infiltrator had  
inflicted upon him.  
  
"We are happy to see you return from the front in good working order,  
Champion," al-Farsi said with excruciating politeness.  
  
"Thank you, Chamberlain," Ifurita said mildly. She did not rise to the barb  
at all, though Makoto found himself fighting the urge to toss the bastard  
over the railing. You never miss a trick, do you? Makoto thought angrily.  
So like the man to seize upon an opportunity to twist the knife in Ifurita's  
back.  
  
Al-Farsi glanced at the map below. "The situation seems little changed  
since yesterday."  
  
"The front has stabilized," Ifurita replied.  
  
"Meaning that we are at loggerheads," al-Farsi tutted.  
  
Ifurita cast her eyes downward. "It is as you say."  
  
Makoto gasped as he took a good look at the map below. Of course his wife  
had been keeping him apprised of the Bugrom's advance, but seeing the  
magnitude of the disaster displayed below him took his breath away. Every  
major city between the Desert of Bleached White Bones and the Holy River was  
under Bugrom occupation. There were twenty-three in all, each so indicated  
by a red marker. Over a million Roshtarian citizens were known to be Bugrom  
hostages, though undoubtedly the many refugees missed by the postwar census  
would increase the total significantly.  
  
And Makoto had been there when the corvette from Laide had limped in to the  
Palace airfield. Decks lined with the injured and the dying told the grim  
story being displayed clinically on the map beneath them in a much more  
personal way. Surely, he thought glumly, the horrible events of the  
previous night that had forever changed their world.  
  
The Royal Family entered as Makoto shook his head, unable to comprehend the  
enormity of it all. Both Justen and little Andria accompanied the King and  
Queen, much to his surprise. The Prince understandably looked miserable,  
though Andria looked to be quite excited despite her attempts at stoic  
solemnity. Justen's cat-armor Rufus followed behind quietly, oddly enough.  
Makoto figured Rune Venus had spent the last several minutes reminding  
Justen to hold his tongue lest he make a bad situation worse. Not  
surprisingly, Fatora was nowhere to be seen. Makoto knew she was  
recuperating from her ordeal, but figured the Princess Regent would hardly  
have bothered to come regardless.  
  
The war room did not stand on ceremony. "Good morning, everyone," Rune said  
simply as she looked around at her advisors. "Ifurita, I am glad to see you  
well," she said warmly as at last their eyes met. Makoto found himself  
grateful to his Queen, knowing she was not speaking merely of his wife's  
physical condition.  
  
"Thank you, Majesty," Ifurita said as she bowed her head slightly. "I'm  
afraid I bring little good news today."  
  
"We were expecting none," Rune said sadly. "Al-Farsi, would you begin?"  
  
"Certainly, your highness," he replied, spreading his arm out to indicate  
the map on the floor before them. "Depositions taken from new arrivals  
fleeing the captured cities simply confirm what we had already deduced. The  
Bugrom sleepers were all activated at nearly the same time. Unlike the Old  
Cities where they had but a few score sleepers in key places, the Bugrom  
deployed thousands of them to frontier. Disguised as merchants and  
refugees, they overwhelmed each city's garrison overnight and from within.  
Most of the local militiamen were slaughtered, after which the Bugrom troops  
took up the same defensive positions for themselves. Fortunately, they do  
not seem to be making any moves to harm the civilians. They have, however,  
barred the city gates to prevent anyone from leaving."  
  
"And what of General Kessling's counterattack in Doros Land?" Kaured asked  
solemnly. Makoto knew the question bore asking, though he was sure nobody  
would like the answer he expected to hear.  
  
Al-Farsi shook his head solemnly, confirming everyone's worst fears.  
Kessling was the third commander on the frontier who had staged a  
counterattack before receiving official word from Floristica to cease and  
desist. "The counterattack has failed. Kessling's forces have fallen back  
with heavy losses," the Chamberlain said sadly. "Even the arrival of the  
Champion did little to help," he continued after glancing toward Ifurita  
with the hint of a haughty sneer on his lip. "The Bugrom are dug-in amongst  
the population. Civilians have been forced into support roles in the  
cities' defensive positions, including large numbers of women and children.  
As you might well imagine, this puts enormous limits on just what the  
Champion can do, as she would no doubt confirm for us."  
  
"The Chamberlain speaks the truth," Ifurita said after a long moment. "We  
suffered many casualties by our own hand before I gave the order to  
disengage." The room fell silent as everyone arrived at the same  
unavoidable conclusion -- even a Demon-God's great power was of little use  
in the situation Roshtaria found itself. Sure, Ifurita could destroy every  
one of the Bugrom invaders, but not unless she was willing to obliterate  
thousands of their own. A real "scorched earth" scenario, Makoto though  
glumly.  
  
Al-Farsi gestured once again toward the map below them. "As you can see,  
the Champion has ordered that the frontier fortresses be abandoned. There  
is little else we can do," he shrugged. "Since their supply routes were cut  
they would have been completely isolated. Fortunately, the retreating  
forces are not being attacked. The Bugrom appear busy reinforcing and  
resupplying the captured cities."  
  
"Have we intercepted more of their transports?" Rune asked.  
  
"Yes," Ifurita confirmed, though Makoto knew she was not at all happy about  
it. "They only operate at night, guided by beacon fires the Bugrom have set  
in the cities. Approaching the cities ourselves is out of the question,  
since our ships dare not return the fire they would take from the city  
walls. Our patrols have been unable to intercept any transports; so far I  
am the only one who has found any. I have found no large transports,  
suggesting to me there are none. They are using small, fast transports that  
can fly to the border cities and back across the Holy River in a single  
night. I have sought their counterpart installations in Bugrom territory  
and destroyed two of them, though I conclude these alone were far too small  
to supply such an advance. I suspect the Bugrom employ many small  
underground supply caches in the forests equipped with camouflage nets for  
the ships."  
  
Ifurita paused before sighing forlornly. "We could search for years and  
never find them all."  
  
She told me this already, Makoto simmered silently. Leave it to al-Farsi to  
have her explain to everyone attacking the Bugrom supply line with a  
Demon-God would be as practical as attacking a locust swarm with an  
artillery piece.  
  
"What an utter disgrace!" King Kaured thundered, obviously unable to endure  
any more bad news. "How can twenty-three cities be taken in a single night?  
Were the soldiers all sleeping?"  
  
Al-Farsi cleared his throat. Here it comes, Makoto thought as he rolled his  
eyes. He knew damn well what the Chamberlain was about to say. And he knew  
how much al-Farsi had been looking forward to saying it.  
  
"Most of the frontier city garrisons were at a fraction of their normal  
strength, Your Majesty. Recall the Champion's wise decision to reinforce  
border fortifications this past spring after Bugrom activity was first noted  
across the river. However, recently recalling our forces to Roshtaria for  
security duty after the attack in Floristica negated any tactical advantage  
we previously held."  
  
Everyone gathered knew full well al-Farsi, as Affairs Minister, was equally  
culpable as Ifurita for the decisions that had led to this catastrophe. But  
Makoto knew it mattered little. He had managed to stay on the sidelines  
while Ifurita had swallowed the Bugrom's bait. Figuring where the blame  
would fall was hardly rocket science.  
  
"The Alliance Council is going to be a zoo," Kaured said as if to drive home  
the point. "They are going to demand to know what we are doing to free our  
people."  
  
"At the moment there is nothing we can do," Ifurita replied dejectedly. "We  
need to focus on establishing a new defensive line and helping to evacuate  
those civilians who have managed to escape. The Bugrom have made no move  
yet to sortie from the cities, but may well do so soon enough."  
  
"They hardly need to," Kaured said bitterly. "They have all the major  
granaries of the frontier provinces, with all the harvests just in. They  
could sit tight all winter if they wanted to."  
  
"That is hardly the answer we can give to the Council, Your Highness,"  
al-Farsi reminded him. "If I may suggest, I think that today we need to at  
least be able to announce that we have appointed a special commander of the  
forces that will be tasked with repelling the Bugrom invasion."  
  
In other words, Makoto thought, appoint a special commander who will report  
directly to al-Farsi, not to the Champion.  
  
All eyes were on Rune Venus. Though she did nothing to betray her feelings  
about this proposal, she nodded after a moment's consideration. "Very well.  
Do you have anyone in particular in mind?"  
  
Al-Farsi smiled and nodded. "Indeed I do, Your Highness." He ran through a  
series of names, most of whom Makoto had at least a passing acquaintance  
with. All shared three things in common; they were each one of al-Farsi  
cronies, they were hard-line expansionists, and none had any involvement  
with the Cerulean fiasco.  
  
Makoto crossed his arms and stared at the floor. Obviously al-Farsi had  
been hedging his bets.  
  
Rune asked several questions regarding their relative qualifications, which  
al-Farsi was all too happy to answer. Even Makoto had to admit the man had  
a greater mastery of the details than Londs ever had. Surely there was more  
subtext to the discussion than what he was picking up. Al-Farsi was testing  
the waters; he wanted to see just how much he could milk his new position  
and fame.  
  
At length, Rune and al-Farsi reached consensus on a candidate, allowing  
everyone's attention to move to details of troop movement and refugees.  
Makoto and Ifurita both stood silent as the King, the Queen and the  
Chamberlain considered their options. Makoto knew nobody else's advice need  
be requested nor offered now. Al-Farsi displayed a remarkable grasp of  
every detail of what was going all across the Alliance. If Makoto didn't  
know better he would have never believed al-Farsi he had only been promoted  
only a few days ago. While the Queen and the Chamberlain had agreed upon a  
new field commander for the Alliance forces just now, Makoto had no doubt  
about who would really be running the show from here on.  
  
"I believe we are ready for the Council meeting," Rune said at length.  
"Al-Farsi, you shall attend me."  
  
"Certainly, Your Highness," the Chamberlain answered.  
  
Makoto knew they were all about to find out just who was to be invited to  
the Council meetings for the duration, and, more importantly, who was not.  
  
"The Heir Apparent shall also attend."  
  
Makoto felt his jaw fall open. An official Heir Apparent had not yet been  
announced! He and everyone else had assumed the King and Queen had been  
waiting for Justen to reach his majority.  
  
"Yes, Mother," Andria answered as Rufus wrapped his little furry body around  
hers. "Yes, Mother!" he said in a squeaky voice, aping his new master.  
  
Makoto could not believe what he was hearing. "Rune, how could you--"  
  
"You honor me greatly, Lord Mizuhara," Justen interrupted him. "But I  
believe you would agree the circumstances merit this decision."  
  
He paused a moment to consider this grim revelation. "Rune, to strip Justen  
of his own birthright -- it's too much!" he said, waving his hands  
incredulously. "He's still young! Can he not be forgiven a single  
mistake?"  
  
"No, he cannot Makoto; none of us can," Rune answered him sadly. "The Royal  
Family cannot afford to be anything less than perfect in the eyes of the  
Alliance. You know that."  
  
The next thing Makoto knew he stood alone on the balcony, save for Ifurita.  
Only then he realized neither of them had been invited to the Council  
meeting. "I guess my little stunt with the Elder Priestesses got me in hot  
water too," he quipped, realizing they were officially on the outs.  
  
Ifurita smiled sadly. "It has more to do with your association with me, I  
think. I could not afford to be anything less than perfect either." She  
walked over to the balcony rail and leaned upon it. "Now that my feet of  
clay have been exposed to one and all, I am just another one of the Queen's  
soldiers." She chuckled after pausing a moment to watching the officers and  
their aides scurry about below. "A 'grunt' I suppose you would call me, fit  
only to obey orders, no different than these here below us."  
  
"It's not right," Makoto said bitterly. "Everybody deserves a second  
chance."  
  
Ifurita took Makoto's hand and began leading him from the war room. "You  
have already given me my second chance, Makoto," Ifurita said gently. "It  
must pain Rune terribly that she must shun us like this. But we are still  
Roshtarians. We can still make a difference."  
  
Makoto finally returned her smile after they entered the corridor. "You're  
right. No one's heard the last of us." His smile fell as his set his jaw  
determinedly. "We won't let this stand, Ifurita. This is personal."  
  
"We should not make any trouble for Rune, Makoto" Ifurita said anxiously.  
"She has enough on her hands right now."  
  
Makoto shook his head. "No, I don't mean that. This attack, it's directed  
at us. You and me."  
  
Ifurita raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"  
  
"What happened to Fatora was just their demonstrating what's going to happen  
to me after they've won. Now they're taking our cities, Ifurita. It's like  
they're daring you to destroy them when they know *you* know you can't."  
Makoto pulled at his face agitatedly. "It stinks of Jinnai, Ifurita.  
Hearing about Fujisawa and Miz was probably just gravy for him."  
  
"I believe you may well be right," she said resignedly. "This sounds like  
the sort of thing my former master might come up with. Perhaps Lucine's  
last words were more than just a taunt."  
  
Makoto did not want to think about the implications of what the Bugrom spy  
had said. "Even now, I still can't hate him, Ifurita. After all, he's  
still Nanami's brother, and--"  
  
Ifurita averted her eyes; Makoto knew he had hit a sore point. "I know," he  
said gently. "On top of everything else, now we have to tell Nanami her own  
brother moves against us once again."  
  
"We need not go to tell her right away," Ifurita said softly.  
  
"No," Makoto replied as he wrapped one arm comfortingly around her shoulder.  
  
"Not right away."  
  
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	20. Rough Justice Ch 20

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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Twenty  
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"I have never felt so weary in all my life," Rune Venus murmured.  
  
"I thought you would have been used to this by now," Kaured replied. He  
spoke softly, but Rune felt his deep voice resonate through his chest. They  
sat on the settee which Rune had placed here on the balcony some years ago.  
Cushions were all very nice though having something to lean back upon made  
it much easier for her to relax in her husband's arms. Sitting here in the  
dying light of the day before retiring had become her favorite time of day.  
His familiar bulk was a comfort she needed now more than ever.  
  
"Yes. If being a mother and a Queen for sixteen years could not wear me  
down, you would think that nothing could." It was a toss-up which had been  
a greater handful these past years, Justen or Roshtaria. "But today I  
thought I would truly despair."  
  
"Carnellian was certainly in top form today," Kaured said dryly. "Banishing  
a Demon-God? The man is going senile. At least al-Farsi was able to put  
him in his place."  
  
"Carnellian is just posturing for the sake of the Tribal Elders," Rune said  
wearily. "Nothing will come of it." Al-Farsi would make certain of that.  
The man was a shark, but for a price he was now Rune's shark -- she surely  
needed one recently. "But I am glad that Ifurita and Makoto were not there  
to hear that nonsense. It would have broken their hearts."  
  
"I suspect they care more for how the Lady Nanami and her husband feel than  
for what any members of the Council may think of them."  
  
"True enough." Shevlin had been very philosophical and understanding when  
Rune met with him -- she had insisted upon personally delivering an apology  
to every one of the detainees. But Shevlin's Terran wife could bear a  
grudge almost as stubbornly as Fatora could, which was saying something.  
  
They sat quietly for a while before Rune suddenly smiled. "I do believe I  
hear the pitter-patter of little feet," she said theatrically.  
  
Kaured chuckled and craned his neck to look back into the bedroom behind  
them. "Come in, my boy. Your mother and I are not doing anything indecent,  
I promise you."  
  
Rune gave him a look that shut him up but could not help completely hide her  
amusement. Certainly this would not have been the first time their son had  
caught them in a compromising position. When Justen walked out onto the  
balcony, they were just politely holding hands. "Hello mother, father," he  
said, smiling awkwardly before he bent down to give his mother a kiss on the  
cheek.  
  
"Did you just come from lessons?" Kaured asked him.  
  
"Yes, father. Professor Soren dismissed me just a few minutes ago."  
  
"Well, he's certainly kept you late. What do you think of his instruction?"  
  
"He is an excellent teacher. I've been learning a lot."  
  
Rune knew perfectly well how to translate: he's a slave driver, he's been  
working me like a dog. "Come sit with us a while," Rune suggested. She  
could tell there was something on his mind.  
  
"Thank you, mother." He sat down on the ottoman in front of the settee.  
They traded palace gossip for a while, their usual preamble before getting  
to the heart of the matter.  
  
"Today Professor Soren asked me what I perceived my role in the world as  
being," Justen said at length. "Of course his question was meant as a  
prelude to a discussion of moral philosophy. But it did get me to thinking  
what my role really is going to be, in a more pragmatic sense."  
  
Rune knew what he was asking. The look Kaured gave her confirmed that she  
should field this one. "You know, of course, that you can never be King,"  
Rune said solemnly.  
  
"Of course," Justen said too quickly. "I have accepted that."  
  
At the moment, those were just words. Rune knew that acceptance was not  
something achieved so quickly. "That does not mean that your duty to the  
Crown has ended. Quite the contrary. It simply means that your role will  
be less public than it would have been, less visible. It will become your  
duty to be your sister's best and most trusted advisor. Best, because  
nobody shall have a more complete grasp of what is happening in our kingdom  
and in our world than you will. Most trusted, because you will prove your  
loyalty and humility every single day. To become the best of advisors, you  
shall study and learn as you never have before. To become the most trusted,  
you shall have to prove your worth. You shall become your sister's eyes and  
ears, her servant and her conscience. You shall bear her upon your  
shoulders, so that her burden becomes yours."  
  
Rune leaned forward, and met his eyes in a way that he would not, could not  
break. "But be sure of one thing, young man. Andria is now Crown Princess,  
and one day she will be Queen. Her word is your law. She shall be your  
lord and master, for the rest of your days. That is what you will really  
have to learn to accept, Justen."  
  
Rune could see the defiance smoldering in her son's eyes, even as he replied  
in a carefully modulated, glib tone. "I would be a poor advisor to Andr--"  
Rune's frown cut him short. "That is, I would be a poor advisor to... my  
liege... if I were to spend my days with my nose in a book."  
  
"Indeed," Rune replied. "You shall have ample opportunity to move about in  
the world and learn all you can. But you shall only leave the palace under  
the escort and tutelage of whatever master your sister and Dean Traugot  
agree to. Not just now, not just after you reach your majority, but for as  
long as you serve the Crown."  
  
Justen seemed taken aback. "I know I must pay for my mistakes but surely  
you don't expect me to be treated like a child forever!"  
  
"Watch your tone, young man," Kaured warned.  
  
Rune waited for Justen's anger to simmer down a little. "One day when  
Andria becomes Queen she may grant you whatever leeway she sees fit. But  
make no mistake, while I am your Queen you will venture from this place only  
under the escort of a master whose word will be your law. And do not even  
think of serving in the defense forces again, Justen. Your fighting days  
are over."  
  
Justen nodded. "I understand."  
  
"Do you?" Rune felt Kaured squeeze her hand, no doubt dissuading her from  
the dressing-down he was expecting her to give their son. "If you think  
that I am treating you harshly, then consider how I have had to deal with  
Ifurita and Makoto. Your actions have forced me to treat them like  
outcasts."  
  
That, at least, seemed to hit home. "They are still our friends, mother."  
  
"Of course they are," Rune said sharply. "They are the two dearest friends  
I have ever known. And now, because of what happened in Cerulea, I must  
shun them. I must appear to shun them in every public way possible. How do  
you think that makes me feel?"  
  
It was a while before Justen answered. "Mother... I'm so sorry."  
  
"Son, do not tell us that you are sorry," Kaured said, "unless you are  
prepared to do as your mother has said, without complaint."  
  
"I understand." He bowed low. "I shall serve Roshtaria to the best of my  
ability, to the end of my days."  
  
"We expect no less," Kaured said curtly.  
  
"It's getting late," Justen observed. "My morning exercises start at  
sunrise. 'No rest for the wicked', as Auntie 'Ora would say." They said  
their good-byes, and Justen left them.  
  
Rune's shoulders slumped as she blew a great rush of air from her lips. She  
leaned over to one side, resting her head in her husband's lap as naturally  
as a bird comes to a tree. She felt his big hands cradling her head and  
waist. For a while she just closed her eyes and lay there, with Kaured's  
comfortable bulk enveloping her. "He's going to hate it," she said at  
length.  
  
"He will endure it," Kaured assured her.  
  
"Oh, I know he will. But it would have been so much better the other way  
around. Andria is much more suited for a scholar's life than her brother  
is. And he is more suited for command than she."  
  
"I know. It will be difficult for both of them. But at least they will  
both willingly fit into their appointed roles."  
  
"Yes." Rune knew both of her children; she knew difficult times lay ahead  
for them all. There would be trouble ahead for certain, though only the  
Fates knew how soon and how serious.  
  
"Unlike someone else I could mention."  
  
Rune recognized immediately to whom he was intimating, reminding her of what  
else she needed to do. "I should go see her."  
  
"The servants say she has touched nary a drop. I don't know if that's good  
or bad."  
  
Rune sat up and exchanged a sad look with her husband. They had the  
servants reporting on their children as well, watching for any signs of  
discord or rebellion. She hated it, but it had to be done. "Something  
good, I hope."  
  
"Your sister has the same sharp edge of good steel that you do, Rune. If  
she made up her mind to it, she could be the sort of leader we need right  
now."  
  
"Yes, I think she could," she replied, knowing such a thing would take time.  
"I'll come see you later," she said as they kissed. Then she made her way  
to Fatora's quarters.  
  
The guards opened the door for her. She went straight to the bedroom but  
Fatora was nowhere in sight. Frowning with worry, Rune walked quickly to  
the big sitting-room. She sighed with relief as she saw Fatora sitting at a  
small table on the balcony that the room let out onto. She had a pitcher  
and goblet, and stared out over the city toward where storm clouds had begun  
rolling in over the horizon. Rune walked just a little closer and softly  
called her name. Fatora flinched slightly, despite Rune's attempt not to  
startle her. She had been jumping at shadows ever since the night Lucine  
had attacked her. But when she turned around she was smiling warmly. She  
looked a lot better than she had yesterday; it appeared she had finally let  
the servants work on her hair. Rune leaned down and kissed her forehead.  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"Okay." Rune went to sit down at the other chair. Fatora gestured to the  
pitcher. "Just fruit juice, honest. Somehow I don't feel complete if I'm  
not holding a goblet. Sort of like Ifurita and her staff, I guess."  
  
"Ifurita has often gone many weeks without her staff."  
  
"Not lately, I'll wager."  
  
"No, I expect not."  
  
"I suppose she's talked to you about her little project."  
  
Rune was surprised at the question. "You mean she's spoken to you as well?"  
  
"Yeah, a couple of days ago. She came bearing gifts. I think she feels bad  
about how she took Lucine down."  
  
Rune took her hand. "We all feel bad about what happened. It must have  
been horrible."  
  
Fatora gave a nervous little laugh. "A Phantom Tribe spy for you and a  
Bugrom spy for me. We sure know how to pick 'em, don't we?"  
  
She averted her eyes. "I hope my next one turns out as good as yours did."  
  
It was a few moments before Rune made up her mind to speak. "Fatora, I've  
always believed there was only one you really cared about."  
  
A shadow fell across her sister's face. "I gave her everything, and..."  
She pursed her lips and took a couple of slow, shuddering breaths. "What's  
the use? She's gone now."  
  
"She is always asking about you. That's what our friends tell me. She must  
miss you as much as you miss her. Even if things can't be the way they  
were, don't you think you could forgive her?"  
  
"Forgive her?" Fatora said in a husky voice. Fire and pain darkened her  
face. "Alielle was my life!" She looked down to the ground, with eyes that  
were dry only by what looked to be a supreme act of will. "I love her. I  
hate her. I want to kill her."  
  
Rune watched her sadly, fearing she had done more harm than good. /Mother,  
I wish you had not been taken from us so quickly. You would know what to  
do, I'm sure./  
  
"Maybe I should revoke the warrant for her arrest."  
  
Despair lifted its weight from Rune's shoulders. "Fatora, do you mean it?"  
  
Fatora nodded, and finally met her gaze. "If she's brave enough to come  
back here, I suppose I can at least hear her out before I decide whether to  
banish her for good."  
  
"Fatora, she's going to be so happy."  
  
"It's not going to be right away, mind you," Fatora said quickly, some of  
the old bullishness creeping back into her voice. "I don't want anyone  
thinking that I'm begging her to come over here and feel sorry for me.  
Besides, I just don't want to talk about her right now."  
  
"Of course. I'm sorry."  
  
Fatora's lips curled into a crooked smile. "Besides, I'm sure you'd rather  
I tell you what Ifurita and I talked about. Am I right?"  
  
"I assume she told you about how she proposes to take back the cities from  
the Bugrom," Rune said by way of answer.  
  
"Once I got her started, she just wouldn't shut up about it. I think she  
would dig geynosanium out of the ground with her teeth to make this work, if  
she had to."  
  
"I could tell she was very enthusiastic about the idea," Rune said  
noncommittally.  
  
"I'll want to hear more from her, but I think I'm going to help finance the  
project."  
  
That really took Rune by surprise. "Fatora, there's no way you could  
finance it by yourself. Not even I could, and I'm in no position."  
  
Fatora waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You won't need to. And it  
goes without saying we wouldn't get anything from the Council. But I'm  
pretty sure I know where I can find people who would be willing to chip in."  
  
"Who, exactly?" Rune asked warily.  
  
Fatora chuckled. "My dear sister, all the concubines I've had over the past  
twenty years have come from the best private clubs in the city. All the  
richest bankers go there, after all. They love so much to brag about the  
money they've laundered and where they've stashed away. Aw, look, she's  
blushing now."  
  
Rune looked away, feeling rather miffed. "It would be inappropriate for a  
member of the Royal Family to resort to blackmail," she said stiffly.  
  
"Blackmail is such an ugly word, dear sister. I prefer to think of it as  
merely reminding them of their duty to the Crown."  
  
Rune looked intently at her sister. "Fatora, is this about getting revenge?  
We've seen where that leads."  
  
"Revenge is only wrong if you go about it in a stupid way, or go after the  
wrong people altogether. Are you saying you wouldn't like to get back at  
those filthy bugs for ruining your son's prospects?"  
  
Rune had no answer to that. "I'm sorry, but I'm just afraid you're treating  
this as another game, something to amuse yourself with."  
  
Fatora's expression sobered. "I'm sick of playing games," she said wearily.  
"I want to do something real. I don't expect you to believe that, just  
because I say so."  
  
"I'd like to believe that, Fatora."  
  
"Fine, then I'll have to show you."  
  
Rune nodded. "I look forward to seeing what you can accomplish."  
  
And maybe when you've done something to earn the respect of your true love,  
you will have the strength to invite her back into your life, she thought.  
  
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	21. Rough Justice Ch 21

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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Twenty-One  
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"And then she slaps her forehead, like this," Shevlin said as he  
demonstrated to their dinner guests. "I ask her 'What's wrong, dear?' And  
she says 'Damn! I forgot to ask him what he wanted for dinner!'"  
  
The table erupted in laughter as Shevlin finished his story, drowning out  
even the sounds of the howling winds and the cold, driving rain outside.  
  
"Oh, come on, everyone," Nanami protested as she emerged from the kitchen  
carrying a large iron pot. "It wasn't all that funny, really. I was there,  
you know."  
  
"But that sounds like such a... oh, I don't know... a 'Nanami' kind of thing  
to say," Shayla piped up from where she sat resting her head on Rilikan's  
shoulder. The two of them looked curiously at Nanami as she set the pot in  
the center of the table.  
  
"My sentiments exactly," said Afura after taking a sip of her drink. "Here  
the Prince offers to be your first reservation when you reopen, and all you  
can think of is what to serve him."  
  
"Hey, business is business," Nanami said indignantly as she removed the  
pot's cover and stirred its contents. "The only reason you're all here is  
because Kanemon's guys just finished rebuilding the kitchen last week. This  
was a prime opportunity for Shevlin and me to give it a shakedown."  
  
"Well, whatever you've made for us really smells wonderful," Qawool said  
eagerly.  
  
"Mmm... not bad if I do say so myself," Nanami replied after dipping the  
heel from a loaf bread into the still-boiling broth and popping it in her  
mouth. "Behold!" Nanami cried, spreading her arms theatrically to indicate  
her creation. "Feast your eyes upon the first treefish hot pot to come from  
the newly commissioned ovens of the Shinonome Café!"  
  
Oohs and aahs could be heard from all around the table as Nanami started  
dishing out the broth and noodles filled with vegetables and meaty chunks of  
the tender fish. Shevlin poured each of them a glass of wine, telling them  
briefly it had been given to him from a friend's own private stash to  
celebrate his being released from Palace custody.  
  
Nanami moved to her place at the head of the table next to her husband.  
Following tradition, she nodded her head in a gesture of thanksgiving before  
raising her glass.  
  
"I really don't have a lot to say I haven't said already," she began. "Even  
though we find ourselves in troubled times, Shev and I feel we are lucky to  
have a warm fire, fine food and good friends."  
  
Nanami bit her lip for a moment before she continued. "And I'm reminded of  
our other friends who have been taken from us by this new war. But I take  
some comfort in knowing they live on with us in our hearts and minds, in  
fact, in a way I know they are with us even now." Nanami raised her glass  
as their guests followed suit. "So let us drink, my friends, and share this  
food in memory of Miz and Masamichi."  
  
"Hear, hear," Rilikan said before tipping his glass back high and slamming  
it down on the tabletop.  
  
"Cy, quit showing off!"  
  
"Oh, this is mild stuff, Shay," Rilikan said to his accuser. "You should  
try Cerulean mead if you get the chance. That stuff could etch plastisteel,  
let me tell you."  
  
"And I want to thank you all for your support of my people and I," Shevlin  
said, unobtrusively picking up where his wife had left off. "With all the  
bad blood still left over from the last war, people seem to think the Bugrom  
learned their infiltration strategy from us." He raised his glass. "To our  
good friends."  
  
Everyone voiced their approval in one way or another, and together they  
drank the toast that Rilikan had gotten ahead of everyone else. Nanami  
couldn't help but wonder if anyone else could tell her smile tonight was a  
little bit forced. Shevlin was certainly right about the bad blood leftover  
from what Galus had done to the Roshtarians years before. She wondered if  
the support of their friends would be enough.  
  
At least the people in the neighborhood were solidly behind them. She and  
Shevlin had thrown a dinner party for them last night to thank them for all  
the help in getting the place back in shape. Tonight's event had originally  
been intended to welcome their old friends Afura and Shayla back to  
Floristica, though she wouldn't have felt right if she hadn't invited their  
successors as well. Nanami had enjoyed getting to know Elena and Kiku  
better, they were great kids. And Shayla's new beau was nice enough, in a  
roughhewn sort of way. Earlier he had shared with them the story how the  
Cerulean militia had found him washed up on the bank of the Jilea and had  
nursed him back to health after he and Laria had been ambushed by the Bugrom  
spies.  
  
"So when is the Prince arriving for his meal, Nanami?" Elena asked.  
  
"Four days from today."  
  
Elena frowned. "Isn't that when you're scheduled to reopen?"  
  
Nanami grinned. "That's right. But I figure I can afford to set aside one  
reserved table."  
  
"And here we thought you were planning to keep commoners like us from dining  
with royalty," Rilikan chuckled.  
  
"Not hardly," Shevlin assured him. "Just because Prince Justen wants to  
dine at our humble establishment doesn't mean Nanami and I are going to let  
it go to our heads."  
  
"That's right," Nanami winked. "Anyway, I'm sure Queen Rune put His  
Haughtiness up to it. Mingling with the working class a bit just may do him  
some good."  
  
"The Prince has made a very humbling gesture, Nanami," Afura tutted. "It's  
no small matter when the House of Jagdhar admits wrongdoing, especially when  
one of its own publicly apologizes to one of its subjects."  
  
"And besides, he's only one patron anyway. We'll need to get back all our  
old customers to keep us going," Shevlin said.  
  
Nanami's eyes lit up. "Well, at least we'll be getting all our help back!"  
  
"Even that one girl who was hurt in the fire?" Kiku asked.  
  
"That's right," Nanami said, nodding. "Her healer said she should be able  
to come back so long as I keep her on light duty for awhile."  
  
"Hey, jailbird!"  
  
Everyone started and whirled to face the entrance to the café kitchen. A  
blue-skinned man stood leaning in the doorway, smiling at them.  
  
Nanami let out her breath. "Korvet, you jerk! You scared the hell out of  
us!" she chided. "Get in here so that I can feed you! Or deck you. Maybe  
both."  
  
Shevlin's old friend shook his head. "Sorry, just passing through, Nan. I  
have a transport to catch," he said before patting the backpack on his  
shoulder.  
  
"Where are you off to, Korvet?" Shevlin asked him. "We didn't get to thank  
you yet for laying the fire brick for our new oven."  
  
"Heading out to Cerulea. The crew caller left a note with Illia this  
afternoon."  
  
"Already?"  
  
"That's what Illia said. Seems the Royal Engineers have already managed to  
drain out one of the mines. I'm on the team going in to survey how much  
geynosanium is left. I wanted to drop by before I left to wish you luck for  
your reopening."  
  
And so began ten minutes worth of Nanami's insistence he stay for dinner and  
Korvet begging off. He finally left after a chorus of good-byes, saying  
that if he missed this transport it would be a long walk to Cerulea. Though  
Nanami and Shevlin were the only ones here who knew him well, he was a  
regular here as were many of the Tribe community. Everyone gathered had met  
him on occasion.  
  
"Men like him are a Godsend," Afura commented after Korvet had gone.  
"Nobody knows those mines better than the people who grew up there."  
  
"I find it remarkable that I've heard no bitter words from the Cerulean  
defectors I have spoken to," Qawool said softly. "I wonder how their  
feelings will change when they get to Cerulea. Being told what has happened  
to their homeland is one thing, seeing it with their own eyes is quite  
another."  
  
"Indeed," Rilikan agreed solemnly. "Still, the Alliance will need all the  
geynosanium it can get."  
  
"Well, if you weren't expecting Korvet then who are the two empty places  
for?" Shayla asked, pointing at the two empty cushions at the other end of  
the table. "I thought they might be for--OW!"  
  
"You know the ancient custom, Shayla," Afura said solemnly. "During a  
celebration such as this, it's only right to leave empty places to honor  
departed friends."  
  
"Oh, right," Shayla said, shrinking under Afura's withering stare. "Sorry."  
  
Nanami smiled in spite of herself. She imagined the real reason why Afura  
kicked her old friend in the shin. /Whatever you do, don't mention the Ice  
Queen!/  
  
"And you, Shevlin," Qawool said with a worried frown, "I was afraid you  
might be dragging Nanami off to Cerulea too."  
  
"Any ten-year-old Cerulean knows more about mining than I do," Shevlin  
chuckled. "Illusionists are a rather overspecialized lot. Why, if Nanami  
hadn't taught me how to cook I just don't know what I would be doing with  
myself."  
  
Though Shevlin's comment elicited a chorus of laughter from their guests,  
Nanami knew more than anyone how much of a lie it was. Why, Shevlin could  
be a senior intelligence specialist or something, if only there were an army  
left in the world that would trust him with the position. She often  
wondered just how much he missed the old work.  
  
"Actually," Shevlin continued, "I thought you and your fellow Great  
Priestesses would have been called up already."  
  
"You heard just now from Korvet how quickly the Engineers are draining the  
mines," Qawool said as she shook her head. "Her Majesty hasn't asked any of  
us for our assistance as yet. In fact, the last time Rune spoke to me was  
when she requested us to stand down."  
  
"What in Seven Hells are they waiting for?" Shayla asked, rolling her eyes.  
  
"Trying to get the army into a defensible position, I would assume," Kiku  
said dryly. "Retreating a thousand miles takes time."  
  
Nanami could sense the frustration behind her words, and got the same read  
from Elena as well. They were both itching to go out and smite their  
enemies with the vengeful fury of the elements, but knew they could not.  
This was going to be a very different sort of war, of course, though saying  
so was quickly becoming banal.  
  
"To say nothing of relocating so many people," Qawool said.  
  
"Speaking of which, Elena told me your mother arrived in town today," Nanami  
said to change the subject.  
  
Qawool smiled. "Yes, she's settled in at my apartment. She had no problem  
getting here," she said, answering the unasked question. Qawool's home town  
was not one of the ones under forced evacuation, but Qawool had insisted.  
"Given I'll be spending much more time at Mount Muldoon under the  
circumstances, I don't suppose I'll see much of her. I feel a lot better  
knowing she's here, but I still--"  
  
Everyone turned as the knock at the door cut her off.  
  
"Who the hell would be out in this weather?" Nanami asked of no one in  
particular as she headed toward the door. She didn't notice as Shevlin rose  
to follow her.  
  
"Gods, people!" she shouted as her hand reached the latch. "What part of  
'closed for renovations' don't you--"  
  
Everyone seated at the table turned towards the door, curious as to what  
could have possibly silenced Nanami in mid-sentence.  
  
There stood Makoto and Ifurita, their plain cloaks soaked through. Without  
her veil, the driving rain had plastered Ifurita's long silvery locks to  
either side of her face. Makoto tried his best to keep from shivering,  
though from looking at the trembling petals on the bouquet he was holding he  
wasn't having much success.  
  
Nanami's face was frozen in the expression with which she had intended to  
greet people stupid enough to knock at the door a restaurant whose windows  
were boarded up. Ifurita's eyes fell to the pavement under Nanami's stare.  
  
She felt Shevlin place one hand gently on the nape of her neck as he came up  
behind her. "Dear, it *is* rather damp outside."  
  
"So it is," she said icily. She felt sure that if not for her husband's  
calming presence she would have sent these two to go crash al-Farsi's party  
and slam the door in their faces.  
  
Makoto swallowed nervously as Ifurita continued to study the cobblestones.  
  
With a disgusted sniff, Nanami turned away from the door and began walking  
back to her seat at the table.  
  
Ten feet away, she stopped and turned back towards them. "Well, what are  
you waiting for? Don't you two have enough sense to come in out of the  
rain?" she said lightly, meeting Ifurita's eyes for the first time. Nanami  
smiled slightly as Ifurita's eyes thanked her like no words could.  
  
"God, you two are hopeless!" Nanami wailed as she strode to the door where  
she yanked Ifurita and Makoto inside by the wrist. "Get in here!"  
  
People called out greetings from the dinner table as Nanami and Shevlin  
helped their new guests out of their cloaks. Afura sat silent, smiling  
contentedly. And here she thought she was being so clever and all. Nanami  
had already figured she would tell these two about the dinner, so had set  
two extra places.  
  
After placing the flowers in water and setting them on the table, Nanami  
grabbed a towel off the bar and went over to help Ifurita dry her hair. She  
chuckled inwardly as Makoto and Shevlin talked about "what's happening on  
the front" -- as if either of them actually knew anything about it. The  
rest of their guests were just chatting away as if nothing had happened.  
"Just look at you," she admonished Ifurita. "You could have teleported  
here, you know. Did the flagship leave and take your staff or something?"  
  
"I suppose I was treating this as a sort of pilgrimage," Ifurita said  
softly. "Nanami--"  
  
"You don't have to say it," Nanami said, gently toweling Ifurita's hair. "I  
still think you and Makoto are a pair of first-rate idiots. But if I got  
bent out of shape every time you messed up our lives, I'd have gray hairs by  
now. If there's anybody you need to apologize to it's Shevlin," she  
finished, nodding her head in his direction.  
  
"Indeed," Shevlin said sternly. "I'll have you know I was quite vexed to be  
sprung from the Palace dungeon." Then he smiled. "Probably best," he  
chuckled, "for I'm sure I would have gotten fat if I kept eating leftovers  
from Their Majesties table every day. I told Nanami they throw out enough  
food to stock three restaurants our size."  
  
"The palace staff sees to it that nothing gets thrown out," Ifurita said,  
"though I can't claim credit for that."  
  
"Ah, but I can," Nanami said, smiling wickedly. "Thanks to me, Shevlin was  
very comfortable."  
  
"Sure, Nanami," Makoto deadpanned. "Koren told me just how comfortable you  
were making him."  
  
Nanami's eyes narrowed. "You're really asking for it, buster."  
  
"Nanami," Ifurita interrupted with a gentle voice, placing her hand on her  
shoulder, "there is something I should tell you."  
  
Nanami frowned at Ifurita's serious expression. "What?"  
  
"We cannot say for certain, but we believe your brother was involved in the  
attack," Ifurita said awkwardly.  
  
Nanami cocked her head. "Well, duh! Everyone knows what that Bugrom spy  
said to Fatora, that one's in syndication already. Who else but my shit  
brother could come up with something this underhanded? Geez -- I leave the  
intelligence apparat and all of a sudden things start going to hell in a--"  
  
"Hey!" Shayla called out, managing to cut into Nanami's tirade. "We're  
hungry in here! This hot pot thingy is gonna get cold!"  
  
Nanami smiled. "Okay, you heard her; take a seat, you two." She gestured  
towards the empty cushions at the near end of the table. "We're going to  
eat, and you're going to join us," she said, her tone suggesting she wasn't  
about to take "no" for an answer.  
  
Very shortly, everybody was doing just that. Nanami had made sure everyone  
had their fill, though the endless praise seemed to grow old after  
everyone's second helping. She said a silent prayer of thanks for their  
time together; Nanami had not felt this content in a long time. The specter  
of her brother's latest treachery hovered at the back of her mind like a big  
skull grinning at them through the window. He had already taken two dear  
friends from her, and she knew in her bones there was worse to come.  
  
Nanami shook her head, resolving to not allow the howling wind and pouring  
rain outside to dampen their festive occasion. This storm would pass, after  
all.  
  
They always did.  
  
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	22. Rough Justice Epilogue

The story and characters of El-Hazard were created by Hiroki Hayashi and  
Ryoe Tsukimura, and brought to North America by Pioneer LDC. They hold all  
copyright to El-Hazard, we hold none. The following story is fan fiction,  
and may not be sold or distributed for profit. It is a stand-alone story,  
but it takes place in the same continuity as the fan fiction series "El  
Hazard: Earth".  
  
We are giving this story a PG rating, with warning of graphic depiction of  
violence and some moderately suggestive content.  
  
We would like to thank our pre-readers, Charlie Groark, Greg Smith and  
Jerry Yen.  
  
Mark Engels mark_engels@rocketmail.com  
Ken Wolfe kenwolfe@mts.net  
  
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Rough Justice: A Tale of El-Hazard  
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Epilogue  
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Autumn has come quickly this year, Makoto thought as his breath formed  
little clouds in the chilly night air. Standing outside as he was in the  
middle of the night, he could really feel the chill the latitude brought.  
He could hardly believe nearly four seasons had passed since their lives had  
changed in so many ways. The time had flown by so fast.  
  
Hearing the report of a mortar in the distance snapped him back into the  
present moment just as a flare streaked across the night sky.  
  
"Show time," he heard Rilikan mutter from behind him.  
  
The sky lit up in brief flashes and the valley was filled with the sharp  
reports of concussion rounds. Mere seconds later, a flotilla of airborne  
assault boats crested the ridge and flew over them. The boats maintained  
tight formation until breaking off to circle around a tiny landing zone  
marked off in the sprawling ruins that nearly covered the little valley  
below. One at a time, the nimble transports would put down deftly within  
the LZ, embark a half dozen little six-wheeled all-terrain vehicles, and  
swoop off in thirteen seconds flat.  
  
Ifurita stood motionless, arms crossed over her chest. She had slung her  
staff over her back which, ironically, made her look like a rock musician  
Makoto had met once on Earth. "Are the ATAVs performing as intended,  
Doctor?" she asked finally.  
  
"From what I can see from here I don't believe they are able to make top  
speed. Dust and debris kicked up from the boat's backwash may have clogged  
their air intakes," Traugot replied after pausing a moment to avoid being  
drowned out by the roar of one of the transports banking overhead.  
  
"We haven't yet worked all the kinks out of the production models," Makoto  
added.  
  
The four of them stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley where the  
training operation was taking place. The cherry-red glow of the boats'  
oversized Geynosanian drives made their black battle fatigues appear orange  
as they swooped overhead off into the night. The uniforms lacked any  
adornments save the Roshtarian double-moon crest on the left shoulder and a  
strange looking patch on the right. A silver staff had been superimposed  
upon a purple circle -- long and narrow at the one end, ending in a broadax  
at the other. Two globes, embroidered in metallic blue thread that glinted  
in the orange light, decorated the staff near its top. Tongues of flame  
bordered the image on both sides. Circumscribed about it were these words:  
  
-- OUR LADY'S IRREGULARS -- HELL HATH NO FURY --  
  
A runner approached them from behind. "Commander, the Endeavor reports its  
cargo bay doors have jammed," he began without bothering to salute.  
"Attempts to free them have not been successful. They request permission to  
withdraw and proceed to the repair bay."  
  
Rilikan looked at Ifurita for only a moment before replying. "Granted. And  
get the tweaks on it straight away."  
  
"Aye, Commander," the man said before sprinting off to carry out his  
assignment.  
  
After experiencing the crushing formality of the Roshtarian army firsthand,  
Makoto found the lack of pretense here very refreshing. Such ceremony was  
reserved for the regular army, and these soldiers were anything but regular.  
  
Several small explosions produced little flashes among the ruins below. A  
moment later several of the smoldering buildings collapsed into rubble.  
Makoto looked a moment over to where his wife stood enraptured watching the  
fighting continue. Almost as quickly as it had begun, the operation was  
over. Darkness again shrouded the valley below, where even the pale light  
from El-Hazard's twin moons overhead could not reach.  
  
"We have some improvements to make, but I am impressed overall, gentlemen."  
  
Makoto smiled to himself. You're not fooling me, he thought. You're not  
impressed, you're ecstatic.  
  
"I only saw one collision," Traugot noted.  
  
"Two," Ifurita corrected. "Neither appeared to be at high speed; I doubt  
anyone was hurt." But if they were, it would hardly be the first time.  
This was the first live-fire exercise of this scale, and there had been  
casualties before as everyone had expected.  
  
"I was worried the boats might not be maneuverable enough for an LZ of that  
size," Makoto confessed nervously, not talking to anyone in particular.  
"The Shinohara designs I modified were dismissed by the JSDF back on Earth  
because of limited lift capacity and vulnerability to ground fire. Those  
were always the main drawbacks of airmobile forces on Earth. But the  
Geynosanian drives generate enough lift to carry fully loaded ATAVs and  
still carry plenty of armor."  
  
"Although they seem to have an insatiable appetite for geynosanium," Rilikan  
added.  
  
"Looks like all the boats managed to deploy their cargo save for the  
Endeavor," Traugot said excitedly. "I counted five explosions, suggesting  
to me the primary targets were destroyed. The initial results appear  
encouraging, ma'am."  
  
Rilikan chuckled. "Suppose you'll be bragging about our success at the  
Academy Club next week, Doctor?"  
  
Traugot looked indignant at Rilikan's teasing. "Certainly not, Commander.  
If I told anyone I had snuck out here to watch a private army lay waste to  
some of Roshtaria's most treasured ruins I would certainly have my tenure  
revoked."  
  
Everyone laughed, knowing full well Rilikan was simply being facetious. The  
people in Floristica who knew about this exercise barely outnumbered the  
people standing on this bluff, and they intended to keep it this way.  
  
"The operation went pretty smoothly overall," Rilikan said, addressing  
Ifurita this time. "I'd say your training regimen has been a great success,  
ma'am. I never dreamed we could turn this rabble into such a formidable  
fighting unit."  
  
She nodded. "Thank you for your assessment, Commander," she said with only  
the barest hint of relief. "You ought to give yourself more credit, my  
friend. We would not be at our current state of readiness without your  
help."  
  
"Awfully kind of you to say so, ma'am," he chuckled.  
  
"Ma'am," Traugot addressed her, "I must point out that we had to reduce the  
armaments on the production models to satisfy your agility and armor  
requirements."  
  
"A wise man once said on Earth 'the best design is the simplest one that  
works,'" Ifurita tutted. "We need the ATAVs to be quick, maneuverable, and  
protected enough to deploy the troops in the hot zone. If the ATAVs can get  
our troops inside their perimeter, then they have served their purpose."  
  
"Of course, ma'am. But might we assign a single light artillery soldier to  
each ATAV to help protect the craft after troop deployment?"  
  
"That would only be necessary if we intended on retreating, Doctor," she  
said sternly. "These men and women will be evicting the occupation forces  
from their homes and rescuing their loved ones. Once they land in a city,  
there they shall remain -- be they alive or be they dead."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Traugot relented, knowing the issue was now considered closed.  
  
Regular armies fought because they were ordered to, Makoto thought. The men  
in Ifurita's command were taken mostly from the frontier units that had  
ignominiously withdrawn from their now useless fortifications on the Holy  
River. Most of these men had grown up in the very cities that now suffered  
under Bugrom tyranny. They were chomping at the bit to go free their  
friends and families -- and to get some long-delayed payback.  
  
Ifurita glanced at Rilikan. "Commander?"  
  
"Ma'am?"  
  
"Our work is done here for now. Order the troops to begin at once preparing  
for departure. Maintaining secrecy is of great urgency, so make sure they  
cover our tracks like they have been told. By the time the sun crests the  
horizon I want no visible indications we were even here and those ATAVs  
ready for extraction."  
  
"Straight away, ma'am."  
  
Ifurita returned her gaze to valley below. "Dismissed."  
  
The two men marched off, leaving Makoto and Ifurita alone on the cliff.  
  
She stood silent for some time, staring at the dark valley. She was the  
only one who had not been wearing night goggles -- he could only guess what  
her ancient eyes could see. He pulled his own goggles down around his neck,  
finding it easy to see without them now in the pre-dawn glow.  
  
"With the weapons and vehicles you and Doctor Traugot have helped us  
develop, we have a fighting chance, Makoto," Ifurita said at last, turning  
to smile broadly at him. "We can set our people free at last."  
  
"It still scares me, Ifurita," he replied as he twiddled his mustache  
nervously. "A few months ago those machines were just rough drawings on my  
sketchpad. Now hundreds, maybe thousands of men will be entrusting their  
lives to contraptions whose designs I more or less plucked from the trash  
bin at Shinohara Heavy Industries."  
  
"Those men and women all know the risks, Makoto. All we have promised is an  
opportunity to take back what is theirs," she said with a sense of finality.  
  
Silence fell between them once again as they watched the sky begin to  
lighten.  
  
"It scares me too, Makoto. If we fail, then these men and many of their kin  
may die a dog's death. And all because I felt I needed to prove myself. I  
never want to make the same kind of mistakes I made in Cerulea."  
  
"That was months ago, Ifurita. A lot has changed since then."  
  
"Indeed. We are no longer bound by the Roshtarian military apparat. That  
gives us greater freedom."  
  
Makoto shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. Do you know what the  
men are saying is the surest way to get a promotion in the Airborne Legion?"  
he asked her, chuckling.  
  
Ifurita raised a slim eyebrow, awaiting his answer.  
  
"They say the surest way to be promoted is to tell Our Lady that she's wrong  
and be able to back it up."  
  
"I have been handing out promotions out on a daily basis," she chuckled.  
"So what does that say about me?"  
  
"It says you're confident enough in yourself to listen to people."  
  
Ifurita walked over to where Makoto stood and took both his hands in hers.  
"I owe that to you, Makoto. Even when I was as wrong as I possibly could  
have been, you knew that one day I would see the truth for myself. You  
helped me open my eyes yet again."  
  
Makoto took hold of her waist just as the first rays of sunlight broke over  
the rocky horizon. "I'm no different than those men down there, Ifurita.  
We all want to live in peace with our loved ones, and we've all lost  
friends. Though I dread the thought, I'm afraid we'll lose more before this  
bad business is through."  
  
"But we have to fight for the ones that remain," he whispered into her ear.  
"We must help them, wherever they may be."  
  
The gentle warrior smiled. "And so we shall, love."  
  
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The End  
  
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This story is dedicated to the victims of terrorism everywhere.  
  
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Song lyrics credit  
  
"Wish You Were Here," _Wish You Were Here_, Pink Floyd  
  
(c) 1974 Pink Floyd Music Publishers Ltd.  
Roger Waters Music Overseas Ltd. (Artemis BV)  
Used without permission  
  
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Mark Engels  
Ken Wolfe  
  
April 23, 2003  
  
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